O  PIONEERS! 


BY 


WILLA  SIBERT  GATHER 


"Those  fields,  colored  by  various  grain!" 

MICKIEWICZ 


IP 


BOSTON    AND    NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN   COMPANY 
fttoetjtitie  pregtf  tonbriDg* 

1913 


COPYRIGHT,   1913,  BY  WILLA  SIBERT  GATHER 
ALL   RIGHTS  RESERVED 

Published  June  1913 


F: 


•  •*.*•'!  / 

\g  T;  '^SC^- '  % 


ALEXANDRA 


TO  THE   MEMORY   OF 

SARAH  ORNE  JEWETT 

IN    WHOSE    BEAUTIFUL   AND    DELICATE   WORK 

THERE    IS   THE    PERFECTION 

THAT   ENDURES 


282192 


PRAIRIE  SPRING 

EVENING  and  the  flat  land, 

Rich  and  sombre  and  always  silent; 

The  miles  of  fresh-plowed  soil, 

Heavy  and  black,  full  of  strength  and  harshness; 

The  growing  wheat,  the  growing  weeds, 

The  toiling  horses,  the  tired  men; 

The  long  empty  roads, 

Sullen  fires  of  sunset,  fading, 

The  eternal,  unresponsive  sky. 

Against  all  this,  Youth, 

Flaming  like  the  wild  roses, 

Singing  like  the  larks  over  the  plowed  fields, 

Flashing  like  a  star  out  of  the  twilight; 

Youth  with  its  insupportable  sweetness, 

Its  fierce  necessity, 

Its  sharp  desire, 

Singing  and  singing, 

Out  of  the  lips  of  silence, 

Out  of  the  earthy  dusk.   ' 


CONTENTS 

PART      I.  THE  WILD  LAND i 

PART    II.  NEIGHBORING  FIELDS      ....    73 

PART  III.  WINTER  MEMORIES 185 

PART  IV.  THE  WHITE  MULBERRY  TREE  .      .  209 
PART     V.  ALEXANDRA 273 


PART  I 

THE  WILD  LAND 


O  PIONEERS! 

PART  I 

THE  WILD   LAND 


ONE  January  day,  thirty  years  ago,  the  little 
town  of  Hanover,  anchored  on  a  windy  Ne 
braska  tableland,  was  trying  not  to  be  blown 
away.  A  mist  of  fine  snowflakes  was  curling 
and  eddying  about  the  cluster  of  low  drab 
buildings  huddled  on  the  gray  prairie,  under  a 
gray  sky.  The  dwelling-houses  were  set  about  t 
haphazard  on  the  tough  prairie  sod;  some  of  %" 
them  looked  as  if  they  had  been  moved  in 
overnight,  and  others  as  if  they  were  straying  ( 
off  by  themselves,  headed  straight  for  the  open 
plain.  None  of  them  had  any  appearance  of 
permanence,  and  the  howling  wind  blew  under 
them  as  well  as  over  them.  The  main  street 
was  a  deeply  rutted  road,  now  frozen  hard, 
which  ran  from  the  squat  red  ~~  ' '  ' 


)  PIONEERS! 

and  the  grain  "elevator"  at  the  north  end  of 
the  town  to  the  lumber  yard  and  the  horse 
pond  at  the  south  end.  On  either  side  of  this 
road  straggled  two  uneven  rows  of  wooden 
buildings;  the  general  merchandise  stores,  the 
two  banks,  the  drug  store,  the  feed  store,  the 
saloon,  the  post-office.  The  board  sidewalks 
were  gray  with  trampled  snow,  but  at,  two 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the  shopkeepers,  hav 
ing  come  back  from  dinner,  were  keeping  well 
behind  their  frosty  windows.  The  children  were 
alljn  school,  and  there  was  nobody^  abroad  in 
the  streets  but  a  few  rough-looking  country 
men  in  coarse  overcoats,  with  their  long  caps 
pulled  down  to  their  noses.  Some  of  them  had 
brought  their  wives  to  town,  and  now  and  then 
a  red  or  a  plaid  shawl  flashed  out  of  one  store 
into  the  shelter  of  another.  At  the  hitch-bars 
along  the  street  a  few  heavy  work-horses,  har 
nessed  to  farm  wagons,  shivered  under  their 
blankets.  About  the  station  everything  was 
quiet,  for  there  would  not  be  another  train  in 
until  night. 

On  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  one  of  the  stores 
sat  a  little  Swede  boy,  crying  bitterly.  He  was 


THE   WILD   LAND 

about  five  years  old.  His  black  cloth  coat  was 
much  too  big  for  him  and  made  him  look  like 
a  little  old  man.  His  shrunken  brown  flannel 
dress  had  been  washed  many  times  and  left  a 
long  stretch  of  stocking  between  the  hem  of  his 
skirt  and  the  tops  of  his  clumsy,  copper-toed 
shoes.  His  cap  was  pulled  down  over  his  ears; 
his  nose  and  his  chubby  cheeks  were  chapped 
and  red  with  cold.  He  cried  quietly,  and  the 
few  people  who  hurried  by  did  not  notice  him. 
He  was  afraid  to  stop  any  one,  afraid  to  go  into 
the  store  and  ask  for  help,  so  he  sat  wringing  his 
long  sleeves  and  looking  up  a  telegraph  pole 
beside  him,  whimpering,  "My  kitten,  oh,  my 
kitten!  Her  will  fweeze!"  At  the  top  of  the 
pole  crouched  a  shivering  gray  kitten,  mewing 
faintly  and  clinging  desperately  to  the  wood 
with  her  claws.  The  boy  had  been  left  at  the 
store  while  his  sister  went  to  the  doctor's  office, 
and  in  her  absence  a  dog  had  chased  his  kit 
ten  up  the  pole.  The  little  creature  had  never 
been  so  high  before,  and  she  was  too  frightened 
to  move.  Her  master  was  sunk  in  despair.  He 
was  a  little  country  boy,  and  this  village  was  to 
him  a  very  strange  and  perplexing  place,  where 


O   PIONEERS! 


people  wore  fine  clothes  and  had  hard  hearts. 
He  always  felt  shy  and  awkward  here,  and 
wanted  to  hide  behind  things  for  fear  some  one 
might  laugh  at  him.  Just  now,  he  was  too  un 
happy  to  care  who  laughed.  At  last  he  seemed 
to  see  a  ray  of  hope:  his  sister  was  coming,  and 
he  got  up  and  ran  toward  her  in  his  heavy 
shoes. 

,/*  His  sister  was  a  tall,  strong  girl,  and  she 
walked  rapidly  and  resolutely,  as  if  she  knew 
exactly  where  she  was  going  and  what  she  was 
going  to  do  next.  She  wore  a  man's  long  ulster 
(not  as  if  it  were  an  affliction,  but  as  if  it  were 
very  comfortable  and  belonged  to  her;  carried 
it  like  a  young  soldier),  and  a  round  plush  cap, 
tied  down  with  a  thick  veil.  She  had  a  serious, 
thoughtful  face,  and  her  clear,  deep  blue  eyes 
were  fixed  intently  on  the  distance,  without 
seeming  to  see  anything,  as  if  she  were  in 
trouble.  She  did  not  notice  the  little  boy  until 
he  pulled  her  by  the  coat.  Then  she  stopped 
short  and  stooped  down  to  wipe  his  wet  face. 

"Why,  Emil!  I  told  you  to  stay  in  the  store 
and  not  to  come  out.  What  is  the  matter  with 
you?" 

6 

J 


THE   WILD   LAND 

"My  kitten,  sister,  my  kitten!  A  man  put 
her  out,  and  a  dog  chased  her  up  there."  His 
forefinger,  projecting  from  the  sleeve  of  his  coat, 
pointed  up  to  the  wretched  little  creature  on 
the  pole. 

"Oh,  Emil!  Didn't  I  tell  you  she'd  get  us 
into  trouble  of  some  kind,  if  you  brought  her? 
What  made  you  tease  me  so?  But  there,  I 
ought  to  have  known  better  myself."  She  went 
to  the  foot  of  the  pole  and  held  out  her  arms, 
crying,  "Kitty,  kitty,  kitty,"  but  the  kitten 
only  mewed  and  faintly  waved  its  tail.  Alex 
andra  turned  away  decidedly.  "  No,  she  won't 
come  down.  Somebody  will  have  to  go  up  after 
her.  I  saw  the  Linstrums'  wagon  in  town.  I  '11 
go  and  see  if  I  can  find  Carl.  Maybe  he  can  do 
something.  Only  you  must  stop  crying,  or  I 
won't  go  a  step.  Where's  your  comforter?  Did 
you  leave  it  in  the  store?  Nevermind.  Hold 
still,  till  I  put  this  on  you." 

She  unwound  the  brown  veil  from  her  head 
and  tied  it  about  his  throat.  A  shabby  little 
traveling  man,  who  was  just  then  coming  out  of 
the  store  on  his  way  to  the  saloon,  stopped  and 
gazed  stupidly  at  the  shining  mass  of  hair  she 


O  PIONEERS! 

bared  when  she  took  off  her  veil;  two  thick 
braids,  pinned  about  her  head  in  the  German 
way,  with  a  fringe  of  reddish-yellow  curls  blow 
ing  out  from  under  her  cap.  He  took  his  cigar 
out  of  his  mouth  and  held  the  wet  end  between 
jthe  fingers  of  his  woolen  glove.  "My  God,  girl, 
;what  a  head  of  hair!"  he  exclaimed,  quite 
1  innocently  and  foolishly.  She  stabbed  him  with 
'  a  glance  of  Amazonian  fierceness  and  drew  in 
her  lower  lip  —  most  unnecessary  severity.  It 
gave  the  little  clothing  drummer  such  a  start 
that  he  actually  let  his  cigar  fall  to  the  side 
walk  and  went  off  weakly  in  the  teeth  of  the 
wind  to  the  saloon.  His  hand  was  still  unsteady 
when  he  took  his  glass  from  the  bartender.  His 
feeble  flirtatious  instincts  had  been  crushed 
before,  but  never  so  mercilessly.  He  felt  cheap 
and  ill-used,  as  if  some  one  had  taken  advan 
tage  of  him.  When  a  drummer  had  been  knock 
ing  about  in  little  drab  towns  and  crawling 
across  the  wintry  country  in  dirty  smoking- 
cars,  was  he  to  be  blamed  if,  when  he  chanced 
upon  a  fine  human  creature,  he  suddenly  wished 
himself  more  of  a  man  ? 

'  While  the  little  drummer  was  drinking  to 

8 


THE  WILD  LAND 

recover  his  nerve,  Alexandra  hurried  to  the 
drug  store  as  the  most  likely  place  to  find  Carl 
Linstrum.  There  he  was,  turning  over  a  port 
folio  of  chromo  "studies"  which  the  druggist 
sold  to  the  Hanover  women  who  did  china- 
painting.  Alexandra  explained  her  predica 
ment,  and  the  boy  followed  her  to  the  corner, 
where  Emil  still  sat  by  the  pole. 

"I'll  have  to  go  up  after  her,  Alexandra.  I 
think  at  the  depot  they  have  some  spikes  I  can 
strap  on  my  feet.  Wait  a  minute."  Carl  thrust 
his  hands  into  his  pockets,  lowered  his  head, 
and  darted  up  the  street  against  the  north 
wind.  He  was  a  tall  boy  of  fifteen,  slight  and 
narrow-chested.  When  he  came  back  with  the 
spikes,  Alexandra  asked  him  what  he  had  done 
with  his  overcoat. 

"  I  left  it  in  the  drug  store.  I  could  n't  climb 
in  it,  anyhow.  Catch  me  if  I  fall,  Emil,"  he 
called  back  as  he  began  his  ascent.  Alexandra 
watched  him  anxiously;  the  cold  was  bitter 
enough  on  the  ground.  The  kitten  would  not 
budge  an  inch.  Carl  had  to  go  to  the  very  top 
of  the  pole,  and  then  had  some  difficulty  in  tear 
ing  her  from  her  hold.  When  he  reached  the 

9 


©   PIONEERS! 

ground,  he  handed  the  cat  to  her  tearful  little 
master.  "Now  go  into  the  store  with  her,  Emil, 
and  get  warm."  He  opened  the  door  for  the 
child.  "Wait  a  minute,  Alexandra.  Why  can't 
I  drive  for  you  as  far  as  our  place?  It's  get 
ting  colder  every  minute.  Have  you  seen  the 
doctor?" 

'Yes.  He  is  coming  over  to-morrow.  But 
he  says  father  can't  get  better;  can't  get  well." 
The  girl's  lip  trembled.  She  looked  fixedly  up 
the  bleak  street  as  if  she  were  gathering  her 
strength  to  face  something,  as  if  she  were  try 
ing  with  all  her  might  to  grasp  a  situation  which, 
no  matter  how  painful,  must  be  met  and  dealt 
with  somehow.  The  wind  flapped  the  skirts  of 
her  heavy  coat  about  her. 

Carl  did  not  say  anything,  but  she  felt  his 
sympathy.  He,  too,  was  lonely.  He  was  a  thin, 
frail  boy,  with  brooding  dark  eyes,  very  quiet 
in  all  his  movements.  There  was  a  delicate  pallor 
in  his  thin  face,  and  his  mouth  was  too  sensitive 
for  a  boy's.  The  lips  had  already  a  little  curl 
of  bitterness  and  skepticism.  The  two  friends 
stood  for  a  few  moments  on  the  windy  street 
corner,  not  speaking  a  word,  as  two  travelers, 

10 


L  AND 

who  have  lost  their  way,  sometimes  stand  and 
admit  their  perplexity  in  silence.  When  Carl 
turned  away  he  said,  "I'll  see  to  your  team." 
Alexandra  went  into  the  store  to  have  her  pur 
chases  packed  in  the  egg-boxes,  and  to  get  warm 
before  she  set  out  on  her  long  cold  drive. 

When  she  looked  for  Emil,  she  found  him  sit 
ting  on  a  step  of  the  staircase  that  led  up  to  the 
clothing  and  carpet  department.  He  was  play 
ing  with  a  little  Bohemian  girl,  Marie  Tovesky,  ^ 
who  was  tying  her  handkerchief  over  the  kit 
ten's  head  for  a  bonnet.  Marie  was  a  stranger 
in  the  country,  having  come  from  Omaha  with 
her  mother  to  visit  her  uncle,  Joe  Tovesky.  She 
was  a  dark  child,  with  brown  curly  hair,  like  a 
brunette  doll's,  a  coaxing  little  red  mouth, 
and  round,  yellow-brown  eyes.  Every  one 
noticed  her  eyes;  the  brown  iris  had  golden 
glints  that  made  them  look  like  gold-stone,  or, 
in  softer  lights,  like  that,  Colorado  mineral 
called  tiger-eye,  e  \  ^  *\j$>  * 

The  country  children  thereabouts  wore  their 
dresses  to  their  shoe-tops,  but  this  city  child    -, 
was  dressed  in  what  was  then  called  the  "Kate    * 
Greenaway"  rr~nr>er,  and  her  red  cashmere    ^ 

TI 


O   PIONEERS! 

frock,  gathered  full  from  the  yoke,  came  almost 
to  the  floor.  This,  with  her  poke  bonnet,  gave 
her  the  look  of  a  quaint  little  woman.  She  had 
a  white  fur  tippet  about  her  neck  and  made 
no  fussy  objections  when  Emil  fingered  it 
admiringly.  Alexandra  had  not  the  heart  to 
take  him  away  from  so  pretty  a  playfellow,  and 
she  let  them  tease  the  kitten  together  until  Joe 
Tovesky  came  in  noisily  and  picked  up  his  little 
niece,  setting  her  on  his  shoulder  for  every 
one  to  see.  His  children  were  all  boys,  and  he 
adored  this  little  creature.  His  cronies  formed 
a  circle  about  him,  admiring  and  teasing  the 
little  girl,  who  took  their  jokes  with  great  good 
nature.  They  were  all  delighted  with  her,  for 
they  seldom  saw  so  pretty  and  carefully  nur 
tured  a  child.  They  told  her  that  she  must 
choose  one  of  them  for  a  sweetheart,  and  each 
began  pressing  his  suit  and  offering  her  bribes; 
candy,  and  little  pigs,  and  spotted  calves.  She 
looked  archly  into  the  big,  brown,  mustached 
faces,  smelling  of  spirits  and  tobacco,  then  she 
ran  her  tiny  forefinger  delicately  over  Joe's 
bristly  chin  and  said,  "Here  is  my  sweetheart." 
The  Bohemians  roared  with  laughter,  and 

12 


THE   WILD   LAND 

Marie's  uncle  hugged  her  until  she  cried, "  Please 
don't,  Uncle  Joe!  You  hurt  me."  Each  of  Joe's 
friends  gave  her  a  bag  of  candy,  and  she  kissed 
them  all  around,  though  she  did  not  like  coun 
try  candy  very  well.  Perhaps  that  was  why  she 
bethought  herself  of  Emil.  "Let  me  down, 
Uncle  Joe,"  she  said,  "I  want  to  give  some  of 
my  candy  to  that  nice  little  boy  I  found."  She 
walked  graciously  over  to  Emil,  followed  by  her 
lusty  admirers,  who  formed  a  new  circle  and 
teased  the  little  boy  until  he  hid  his  face  in  his 
sister's  skirts,  and  she  had  to  scold  him  for 
being  such  a  baby. 

The  farm  people  were  making  preparations 

to  start  for  home.   The  women  were  checking 

over  their  groceries  and  pinning  their  big  red 

sha;v;s  about  their  heads.  The  men  were  buy- 

^cco  and  candy  with  what  money  they 

,  were  showing  each  other  new  boots 

/es  and  blue  flannel  shirts.   Three  big 

mans  were  drinking  raw  alcohol,  tinctured 

il  of  cinnamon.  This  was  said  to  fortify 

one   effectually   against   the   cold,    and   they 

smacked  their  lips  after  each  pull  at  the  flask. 

Their  volubility  drowned  every  other  noise  in 

13 


O   PIONEERS! 

the  place,  and  the  overheated  store  sounded  of 
their  spirited  language  as  it  reeked  of  pipe 
smoke,  damp  woolens,  and  kerosene. 

Carl  came  in,  wearing  his  overcoat  and  carry 
ing  a  wooden  box  with  a  brass  handle.  "Come," 
he  said,  "I've  fed  and  watered  your  team,  and 
the  wagon  is  ready."  He  carried  Emil  put  and 
tucked  him  down  in  the  straw  in  the  wagon- 
box.  The  heat  had  made  the  little  boy  sleepy, 
but  he  still  clung  to  his  kitten. 

"You  were  awful  good  to  climb  so  high  and 
get  my  kitten,  Carl.  When  I  get  big  I  '11  climb 
and  get  little  boys'  kittens  for  them,"  he  mur 
mured  drowsily.  Before  the  horses  were  over 
the  first  hill,  Emil  and  his  cat  were  both  fast 
asleep. 

Although  it  was  only  four  o'clock,  the  winter 
day  was  fading.  The  road  led  southwest,  toward 
the  streak  of  pale,  watery  light  that  glimmered 
in  the  leaden  sky.  The  light  fell  upon  the  two 
young  faces  that  were  turned  mutely  toward 
it:  upon  the  eyes  of  the  girl,  who  seemed  to  be 
looking  with  such  anguished  perplexity  into 
the  future;  upon  the  sombre  eyes  of  the  boy, 
who  seemed  already  to  be  looking  into  the  past, 

14 


THE   WILD   LAND 

The  little  town  behind  them  had  vanished  as  if 
it  had  never  been,  had  fallen  behind  the  swell 
of  the  prairie,  and  the  stern  frozen  country 
received  them  into  its  bosom.  The  homesteads""^ 
were  few  and  far  apart;  here  and  there  a  wind 
mill  gaunt  against  the  sky,  a  sod  house  crouch-  '. 
ing  in  a  hollow.  But  the  great  fact  was  the  land 
itself,  which  seemed  to  overwhelm  the  little 
beginnings  of  human  society  that  struggled  in 
its  sombre  wastes.  It  wras  from  facing  this  vast 
hardness  that  the  boy's  mouth  had  become  so 
bitter;  because  he  felt  that  men  were  too  weak 
to  make  any  mark  here,  that  the  land  wanted 
to  be  let  alone,  to  preserve  its  own  fierce 
strength,  its  peculiar,  savage  kind  of  beauty, 
its  uninterrupted  mournfulness.  ^ 

The  wagon  jolted  along  over  the  frozen  road. 
The  two  friends  had  less  to  say  to  each  other 
than  usual,  as  if  the  cold  had  somehow  pene 
trated  to  their  hearts. 

"Did  Lou  and  Oscar  go  to  the  Blue  to  cut 
wood  to-day?"  Carl  asked. 

"Yes.    I'm  almost  sorry  I  let  them  go,  it's 

turned  so  cold.   But  mother  frets  if  the  wood 

She  stopr~J  n"A  ^71t  k^r  hand  to 


O   PIONEERS! 

her  forehead,  brushing  back  her  hair.  "I  don't 
know  what  is  to  become  of  us,  Carl,  if  father 
has  to  die.  I  don't  dare  to  think  about  it.  I 
wish  we  could  all  go  with  him  and  let  the  grass 
back  over  everything." 

Carl  made  no  reply.  Just  ahead  of  them  was 
the  Norwegian  graveyard,  where  the  grass  had, 
indeed,  grown  back  over  everything,  shaggy 
and  red,  hiding  even  the  wire  fence.  Carl  real 
ized  that  he  was  not  a  very  helpful  companion, 
but  there  was  nothing  he  could  say. 

"Of  course,"  Alexandra  went  on,  steadying 
her  voice  a  little,  "the  boys  are  strong  and  work 
hard,  but  we've  always  depended  so  on  father 
that  I  don't  see  how  we  can  go  ahead.  I  almost 
feel  as  if  there  were  nothing  to  go  ahead  for." 

"Does  your  father  know?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  he  does.  He  lies  and  counts 
on  his  fingers  all  day.  I  think  he  is  trying  to 
count  up  what  he  is  leaving  for  us.  It's  a  com 
fort  to  him  that  my  chickens  are  laying  right 
on  through  the  cold  weather  and  bringing  in  a 
little  money.  I  wish  we  could  keep  his  mind  off 
such  things,  but  I  don't  have  much  time  to  be 
with  him  now." 

16 


THE   WILD   LAND 

"I  wonder  if  he'd  like  to  have  me  bring  my 
magic  lantern  over  some  evening?" 

Alexandra  turned  her  face  toward  him.  "Oh, 
Carl!  Have  you  got  it?" 

"Yes.  It's  back  there  in  the  straw.  Did  n't 
you  notice  the  box  I  was  carrying  ?  I  tried  it  all 
morning  in  the  drug-store  cellar,  and  it  worked 
ever  so  well,  makes  fine  big  pictures." 

"What  are  they  about?" 

"Oh,  hunting  pictures  in  Germany,  and 
Robinson  Crusoe  and  funny  pictures  about 
cannibals.  I'm  going  to  paint  some  slides  for 
it  on  glass,  out  of  the  Hans  Andersen  book." 

Alexandra  seemed  actually  cheered.  There  is" 
often  a  good  deal  of  the  child  left  in  people  who 
have  had  to  grow  up  too  soon.  "Do  bring  it 
over,  Carl.  I  can  hardly  wait  to  see  it,  and  I  'm 
sure  it  will  please  father.  Are  the  pictures  col 
ored?  Then  I  know  he'll  like  them.  He  likes 
the  calendars  I  get  him  in  town.  I  wish  I  could 
get  more.  You  must  leave  me  here,  must  n't 
you?  It's  been  nice  to  have  company." 

Carl  stopped  the  horses  and  looked  dubi 
ously  up  at  the  black  sky.  "It's  pretty  dark. 
Of  course  the  horses  will  take  you  home,  but  I 

17 


O   PIONEERS! 

think  I  'd  better  light  your  lantern,  in  case  you 
should  need  it." 

He  gave  her  the  reins  and  climbed  back  into 
the  wagon-box,  where  he  crouched  down  and 
made  a  tent  of  his  overcoat.  After  a  dozen 
trials  he  succeeded  in  lighting  the  lantern,  which 
he  placed  in  front  of  Alexandra,  half  covering 
it  with  a  blanket  so  that  the  light  would  not 
shine  in  her  eyes.  "Now,  wait  until  I  find  my 
box.  Yes,  here  it  is.  Good-night,  Alexandra. 
Try  not  to  worry."  Carl  sprang  to  the  ground 
and  ran  off  across  the  fields  toward  the  Linstrum 
homestead.  "Hoo,  hoo-o-o-o!"  he  called  back 
as  he  disappeared  over  a  ridge  and  dropped 
into  a  sand  gully.  The  wind  answered  him  like 
an  echo,  "Hoo,  hocKMMMM)!"  Alexandra 
drove  off  alone.  The  rattle  of  her  wagon  was 
lost  in  the  howling  of  the  wind,  but  her  lantern, 
held  firmly  between  her  feet,  made  a  "moving 
point  of  light  along  the  highway,  going  deeper 
and  deeper  into  the  dark  country. 


II 

ON  one  of  the  ridges  of  that  wintry  waste 
stood  the  low  log  house  in  which  John  Bergson 
was  dying.  The  Bergson  homestead  was  easier 
to  find  than  many  another,  because  it  over 
looked  Norway  Creek,  a  shallow,  muddy  stream 
that  sometimes  flowed,  and  sometimes  stood 
still,  at  the  bottom  of  a  winding  ravine  with 
steep,  shelving  sides  overgrown  with  brush  and 
cottonwoods  and  dwarf  ash.  This  creek  gave  a 
sort  of  identity  to  the  farms  that  bordered  upon 
it.  Of  all  the  bewildering  things  about  a  new* 
country,  the  absence  of  human  landmarks  is 
one  of  the  most  depressing  and  disheartening. 
The  houses  on  the  Divide  were  small  and  were ' 
usually  tucked  away  in  low  places ;  you  did  not 
see  them  until  you  came  directly  upon  them. 
Most  of  them  were  built  of  the  sod  itself,  and 
were  only  the  unescapable  ground  in  another; 
form.  The  roads  were  but  faint  tracks  in  the 
grasF,  and  the  fields  were  scarcely  noticeable. 
The  record  of  the  plow  was  insignificant,  like 
the  feeble  scratches  on  stone  left  by  prehistoric 

19 


O   PIONEERS! 

races,  so  indeterminate  that  they  may,  after  all, 
be  only  the  markings  of  glaciers,  and  not  a  rec- 
crd  of  human  strivings. 

In  eleven  long  years  John  Bergson  had  made 
but  little  impression  upon  the  wild  land  he  had 
come  to  tame.  It  was  still  a  wild  thing  that  had 
its  ugly  moods;  and  no  one  knew  when  they 
were  likely  to  come,  or  why.  Mischance  hung 
over  it.  Its  Genius  was  unfriendly  to  man.  The 
sick  man  was  feeling  this  as  he  lay  looking  out 
of  the  window,  after  the  doctor  had  left  him, 
on  the  day  following  Alexandra's  trip  to  town. 
There  it  lay  outside  his  door,  the  same  land,  the 
same  lead-colored  miles.  He  knew  every  ridge 
and  draw  and  gully  between  him  and  the 
horizon.  To  the  south,  his  plowed  fields;  to  the 
east,  the  sod  stables,  the  cattle  corral,  the  pond, 
—  and  then  the  grass. 

Bergson  went  over  in  his  mind  the  things 
that  had  held  him  back.  One  winter  his  catjle 
had  perished  in  a  blizzard.  The  next  summer 
one  of  his  plow  hordes  broke  its  leg  in  a  prairie- 
dog  hole  and  had  to  be  shot.  Another  sumi^r  he 
lost  his  hogs  from  cholera,  and  a  variable 
stallion  died  from  a  rattlesnake  bite.  Tim  \>  and 

20 


• 

. 
THE   WILD   LAND 

again  his  crops  had  failed.  He  had  lost  two 
children,  boys,  that  came  between  Lou  and 
Emil,  and  there  had  been  the  cost  of  sickness 
and  death.  Now,  when  he  had  at  last  struggled 
out  of  debt,  he  was  going  to  die  himself^-He 
was  only  forty-six,  and  had,  of  course,  counted 
upon  more  time. 

Bergson  had  spent  his  first  five  years  on  the 
Divide  getting  into  debt,  and  the  last  six  getting 
out.  He  had  paid  off  his  mortgages  and  had 
ended  pretty  much  where  he  began,  with  the 
land.  He  owned  exactly  six  hundred  and  forty 
acres  of  what  stretched  outside  his  door;  his  own 
original  homestead  and  timber  claim,  making 
three  hundred  and  twenty  acres,  and  the  half- 
section  adjoining,  the  homestead  of  a  younger 
brother  who  had  given  up  the  fight,  gone  back 
to  Chicago  to  work  in  a  fancy  bakery  and  dis 
tinguish  himself  in  a  Swedish  athletic  club.  So 
far  John  had  not  attempted  to  cultivate  the 
second  half-section,  but  used  it  for  pasture 
land,  and  one  of  his  sons  rode  herd  there  in 
open  weather. 

John  Bergson  had  the  Old-World  belief  that 
U'H,  in  itself,  is  desirable.    But  *K;° 
' 


O   PIONEERS! 

'an  enigma.    It  was  like  a  horse  that  no  one 

knows  how  to  break  to  harness,  that  runs  wild 

and  kicks  things  to  pieces.  He  had  an  idea  that 

no  one  understood  how  to  farm  it  properly,  and 

I  this  he  often  discussed  with  Alexandra.  Their 

•  neighbors,    certainly,    knew   even   less    about 

^farming  than  he  did.     Many  of    them   had 

/never  worked  on  a  farm  until  they  took  up 

;  their  homesteads.  They  had  been  handwerkers 

\  at  home;   tailors,   locksmiths,   joiners,   cigar- 

!  makers,  etc.  Bergson  himself  had  worked  in  a 

shipyard. 

For  weeks,  John  Bergson  had  been  thinking 
about  these  things.  His  bed  stood  in  the  sitting- 
room,  next  to  the  kitchen.  Through  the  day, 
while  the  baking  and  washing  and  ironing  were 
going  on,  the  father  lay  and  looked  up  at  the 
roof  beams  that  he  himself  had  hewn,  or  out  at 
the  cattle  in  the  corral.  He  counted  the  cattle 
over  and  over.  It  diverted  him  to  speculate  as 
to  how  much  weight  each  of  the  steers  would 
probably  put  on  by  spring.  He  often  called  his 
daughter  in  to  talk  to  her  about  this.  Before 
Alexandra  was  twelve  years  old  she  had  begun 
to  be  a  help  to  him,  and  as  she  grew  older  he 

22 


THE  WILD  LAND 

had  come  to  depend  more  and  more  upon  her 
resourcefulness  and  good  judgment.  His  boys 
were  willing  enough  to  work,  but  when  he 
talked  with  them  they  usually  irritated  him.  It 
was  Alexandra  who  read  the  papers  and  fol 
lowed  the  markets,  and  who  learned  by  the  mis 
takes  of  their  neighbors.  It  was  Alexandra  who 
could  always  tell  about  what  it  had  cost  to  fat 
ten  each  steer,  and  who  could  guess  the  weight 
of  a  hog  before  it  went  on  the  scales  closer  than 
John  Bergson  himself.  Lou  and  Oscar  were  in 
dustrious,  but  he  could  never  teach  them  to  use 
tjieir  heads  about  their  work. 

Alexandra,  her  father  often  said  to  himself, 
was  like  her  grandfather;  which  was  his  way  of 
saying  that  she  was  intelligent.  John  Bergson's 
father  had  been  a  shipbuilder,  a  man  of  consid 
erable  force  and  of  some  fortune.  La£e  in  life  he 
married  a  second  time,  a  Stockholm  woman  of 
questionable  ^Bllcter,  much  younger  than  he, 
who  goaded  him  into  every  sort  of  extrava 
gance.  On  the  shipbuilder's  part,  this  marriage 
was  an  infatuation,  the  despairing  folly  of  a 
powerful  man  who  cannot  bear  to  grow  old. 
In  a  few  yeafs  his  unprincipled  wife  warped  the 

23 


L^  O   PIONEERS! 

probity  of  a  lifetime.  He*speculated,  lost  his 
own  fortune  and  funds  entrusted  to  him  by 
poor  seafaring  men,  and  died  disgraced,  leav 
ing  his  children  nothing.  But  when  all  was  said, 
he  had  come  up  from  the  sea  himself,  had  built 
up  a  proud  little  business  with  no  capital  but  his 
own  skill  and  foresight,  and  had  proved  himself 
a  man.  In  his  daughter,  John  Bergson  recog- 
v  nized  the  strength  of  will,  and  the  simple  direct 
J  way  of  thinking  things  out,  that  had  charac 
terized  his  father  in  his  better  days.  He  would 
much  rather,  of  course,  have  seen  this  likeness 
in  one  of  his  sons,  but  it  was  not  a  question  of 
choice.  As  he  lay  there  day  after  day  he  had  to 
accept  the  situation  as  it  was,  and  to  be  thank 
ful  that  there  was  one  among  his  children  to 
whom  he  could  entrust  the  future  of  his  family 
and  the  possibilities  of  his  hard-won  land. 

The  winter  twilight  was  fading.  The  sick 
man  heard  his  wife  strike  a  match  in  the  kitchen, 
and  the  light  of  a  lamp  glimmered  through  the 
cracks  of  the  door.  It  seemed  like  a  light  shin 
ing  far  away.  He  turned  painfully  in  his  bed 
and  looked  at  his  white  hands,  with  all  the 
work  gone  out  of  them.  He  was  r  >ady  to  \-\VQ 

24      A   ' 


^  THE   WILD  LAND 

/up,  he  felt.  He  did  not  know  how  it  had  come 
/  about,  but  he  was  quite  willing  to  go  deep  un- 
/  der  his  fields  and  rest,  where  the  plow  could  not  , 
find  him.  He  was  tired  of  making  mistakes.  He 
was  content  to  leave  the  tangle  to  other  hands ; 
he  thought  of  his  Alexandra's  strong  ones. 

'"Dotter,"   he  called   feebly,    "dotter!"    He 
heard  her  quick  step  and  saw  her  tall  figure 
appear  in  the  doorway,  with  the  light  of  the 
lamp   behind   her.     He    felt   her   youth   and 
strength,  how  easily  she  moved  and  stooped  ; 
and  lifted.  But  he  would  not  have  had  it  again 
if  he  could,  not  he!  He  knew  the  end  too  well  to  , 
wish  to  begin  again.  He  knew  where  it  all  went  \ 
to,  what  it  all  became. 

His  daughter  came  and  lifted  him  up  on  his 
pillows.  She  called  him  by  an  old  Swedish  name 
that  she  used  to  call  him  when  she  was  little 
and  took  his  dinner  to  him  in  the  shipyard. 

"Tell  the  boys  to  come  here,  daughter.  I 
want  to  speak  to  them." 

"They  are  feeding  the  horses,  father.  They 
have  just  come  back  from  the  Blue.  Shall  I 
call  them?" 

He  sighed.   "No,  no.  Wait  until  they  come  ' 
25 


O   PIONEERS! 

in.  Alexandra,  you  will  have  to  do  the  best  you 
can  for  your  brothers.  Everything  will  come  on 
you." 

"I  will  do  all  I  can,  father." 

"Don't  let  them  get  discouraged  and  go  off 
like  Uncle  Otto.  I  want  them  to  keep  the  land." 

"We  will,  father.  We  will  never  lose  the 
land." 

There  was  a  sound  of  heavy  feet  in  the 
kitchen.  Alexandra  went  to  the  door  and  beck 
oned  to  her  brothers,  two  strapping  boys  of 
seventeen  and  nineteen.  They  came  in  and 
stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  Their  father  looked 
at  them  searchingly,  though  it  was  too  dark  to 
see  their  faces ;  they  were  just  the  same  boys,  he 
told  himself,  he  had  not  been  mistaken  in  them. 
The  square  head  and  heavy  shoulders  belonged 
to  Oscar,  the  elder.  The  younger  boy  was 
quicker,  but  vacillating. 

/""Boys,"  said  the  father  wearily,  "I  want  you  - 
to  keep  the  land  together  and  to  be  guided  by 
your  sister.  I  have  talked  to  her  since  I  have 
been  sick,  and  she  knows  all  my  wishes.  I 
want  no  quarrels  among  my  children,  and  so 
long  as  there  is  one  house  there  must  be  one 

26 


THE  WILD  LAND 

head.  Alexandra  is  the  oldest,  and  she  knows 
my  wishes.  She  will  do  the  best  she  can.  If  she 
makes  mistakes,  she  will  not  make  so  many  as 
I  have  made.  When  you  marry,  and  want  a 
house  of  your  own,  the  land  will  be  divided 
fairly,  according  to  the  courts.  But  for  the  next 
few  years  you  will  have  it  hard,  and  you  must 
all  keep  together.  Alexandra  will  manage  the 
best  she  can." 

Oscar,  who  was  usually  the  last  to  speak, 
replied  because  he  was  the  older,  "Yes,  father. 
It  would  be  so  anyway,  without  your  speaking. 
We  will  all  work  the  place  together." 

"And  you  will  be  guided  by  your  sister,  boys, 
and  be  good  brothers  to  her,  and  good  sons  to 
your  mother?  That  is  good.  And  Alexandra 
must  not  work  in  the  fields  any  more*  There  is 
no  necessity  now.  Hire  a  man  when  you  need 
help.  She  can  make  much  more  with  her  eggs 
and  butter  than  the  wages  of  a  man.  It  was 
one  of  my  mistakes  that  I  did  not  find  that  out 
sooner.  Try  to  break  a  little  more  land  every 
year;  sod  corn  is  good  for  fodder.  Keep  turning 
the  land,  and  always  put  up  more  hay  than  you 
need.  Don't  grudge  your  mother  a  little  time 

27 


O   PIONEERS! 

for  plowing  her  garden  and  setting  out  fruit 
trees,  even  if  it  comes  in  a  busy  season.  She  has 
been  a  good  mother  to  you,  and  she  has  always 
missed  the  old  country." 

When  they  went  back  to  the  kitchen  the  boys 
sat  down  silently  at  the  table.  Throughout  the 
meal  they  looked  down  at  their  plates  and  did 
not  lift  their  red  eyes.  They  did  not  eat  much, 
although  they  had  been  working  in  the  cold  all 
day,  and  there  was  a  rabbit  stewed  in  gravy  for 
supper,  and  prune  pies. 

John  Bergson  had  married  beneath  him,  but 
he  had  married  a  good  housewife.  Mrs.  Berg- 
son  was  a  fair-skinned,  corpulent  woman,  heavy 
and  placid  like  her  son,  Oscar,  but  there  was 
something  comfortable  about  her;  perhaps  it 
was  her  own  love  of  comfort.   For  eleven  years 
she  had  worthily  striven  to  maintain  some  sem 
blance  of  household  order  amid  conditions  that 
made  order  very  difficult.     Habit  was  very 
^strong  with  Mrs.  Bergson,  and  her  unremitting 
;  efforts  to  repeat  the  routine  of  her  old  life  among 
;  new  surroundings  had  done  a  great  deal  to  keep 
the  family  from  disintegrating  morally  and  get- 

28 


THE   WILD  LAND 

ting  careless  in  their  ways.  The  Bergsons  had 
a  log  house,  for  instance,  only  because  Mrs. 
Bergson  would  not  live  in  a  sod  house.  She 
missed  the  fish  diet  of  her  own  country,  and 
twice  every  summer  she  sent  the  boys  to  the 
river,  twenty  miles  to  the  southward,  to  fish 
for  channel  cat.  When  the  children  were  little 
she  used  to  load  them  all  into  the  wagon,  the 
baby  in  its  crib,  and  go  fishing  herself, 

Alexandra  often  said  that  if  her  mother  were 
cast  upon  a  desert  island,  she  would  thank  God 
for  her  deliverance,  make  a  garden,  and  find 
something  to  preserve.  Preserving  was  almost  _, 
a  mania  with  Mrs.  Bergson.  Stout  as  she  was, 
she  roamed  the  scrubby  banks  of  Norway  Creek 
looking  for  fox  grapes  and  goose  plums,  like  a 
wild  creature  in  search  of  prey.  She  made  a  yel 
low  jam  of  the  insipid  ground-cherries  that  grew 
on  the  prairie,  flavoring  it  with  lemon  peel;  and 
she  made  a  sticky  dark  conserve  of  garden  toma 
toes.  She  had  experimented  even  with  the  rank 
buffalo-pea,  and  she  could  not  see  a  fine  bronze 
cluster  of  them  without  shaking  her  head  and 
murmuring,  "What  a  pity!"  When  there  was 
nothing  more  to  preserve,  she  began  to  pickle. 

29 


O   PIONEERS! 

The  amount  of  sugar  she  used  in  these  processes 
was  sometimes  a  serious  drain  upon  the  family 
resources.  She  was  a  good  mother,  but  she  was 
glad  when  her  children  were  old  enough  not  to 
be  in  her  way  in  the  kitchen.  She  had  never 
quite  forgiven  John  Bergson  for  bringing  her 
to  the  end  of  the  earth;  but,  now  that  she  was 
there,  she  wanted  to  be  let  alone  to  reconstruct 
her  old  life  in  so  far  as  that  was  possible.  She 
could  still  take  some  comfort  in  the  world  if 
she  had  bacon  in  the  cave,  glass  jars  on  the 
shelves,  and  sheets  in  the  press.  She  disap- 
proved  of  all  her  neighbors  because  of  their 
slovenly  housekeeping,  and  the  women  thor  -1 
her  very  proud.  Once  when  Mrs.  Bergson, 
her  way  to  Norway  Creek,  stopped  to  see  ^ok 
Mrs.  Lee,  the  old  woman  hid  in  the  haymow 
"for  fear  Mis'  Bergson  would  catch  her  bare 
foot." 


Ill 

ONE  Sunday  afternoon  in  July,  six  months 
after  John  Bergson's  death,  Carl  was"  sitting  in 
the  doorway  of  the  Linstrum  kitchen,  dreaming 
over  an  illustrated  paper,  when  he  heard  the 
rattle  of  a  wagon  along  the  hill  road.  Looking 
up  he  recognized  the  Bergsons'  team,  with  two 
seats  in  the  wagon,  which  meant  they  were  off 
for  a  pleasure  excursion.  Oscar  and  Lou,  on 
the  front  seat,  wore  their  cloth  hats  and  coats, 
never  worn  except  on  Sundays,  and  Emil,  on 
'second  seat  with  Alexandra,  sat  proudly  in 
jf£i  *new  trousers,  made  from  a  pair  of  his 
/ather's,  and  a  pink-striped  shirt,  with  a  wide 
ruffled  collar.  Oscar  stopped  the  horses  and 
waved  to  Carl,  who  caught  up  his  hat  and  ran 
through  the  melon  patch  to  join  them. 

"Want  to  go  with  us?"  Lou  called.  "We're 
going  to  Crazy  Ivar's  to  buy  a  hammock." 

"Sure."  Carl  ran  up  panting,  and  clamber 
ing  over  the  wheel  sat  down  beside  Emil.  "  I  Ve 
always  wanted  to  see  Ivar's  pond.  They  say 
it.'s  the  biggest  in  all  the  country.  Are  n't  you 


PIONEERS! 

afraid  to  go  to  Ivar's  in  that  new  shirt,  Emil? 
He  might  want  it  and  take  it  right  off  your 
back." 

Emil  grinned.  "I'd  be  awful  scared  to  go," 
he  admitted,  "if  you  big  boys  were  n't  along  to 
take  care  of  me.  Did  you  ever  hear  him  howl, 
Carl  ?  People  say  sometimes  he  runs  about  the 
country  howling  at  night  because  he  is  afraid 
the  Lord  will  destroy  him.  Mother  thinks  he 
must  have  done  something  awful  wicked." 

Lou  looked  back  and  winked  at  Carl.  "What 
would  you  do,  Emil,  if  you  was  out  on  the 
prairie  by  yourself  and  seen  him  coming?" 

Emil  stared.  "Maybe  I  could  hide  in  a 
badger-hole,"  he  suggested  doubtfully. 

"But  suppose  there  was  n't  any  badger-hole," 
Lou  persisted.  "Would  you  run?" 

"No,  I'd  be  too  scared  to  run,"  Emil  ad 
mitted  mournfully,  twisting  his  fingers.  "I 
guess  I  'd  sit  right  down  on  the  ground  and  say 
my  prayers." 

The  big  boys  laughed;  and  Oscar  brandished 
his  whip  over  the  broad  backs  of  the  horses. 

"He  would  n't  hurt  you,  Emil,"  said  Carl 
persuasively.  "He  came  to  doctor  our  mare 

32 


THE   WILD  LAND 

when  she  ate  green  corn  and  swelled  up  most  as 
big  as  the  water-tank.  He  petted  her  just  like 
you  do  your  cats.  I  could  n't  understand  much 
he  said,  for  he  don't  talk  any  English,  but  he 
kept  patting  her  and  groaning  as  if  he  had  the  ; 
pain  himself,  and  saying,  *  There  now,  sister, 
that's  easier,  that's  better!'" 

Lou  and  Oscar  laughed,  and  Emil  giggled 
delightedly  and  looked  up  at  his  sister. 

"I  don't  think  he  knows  anything  at  all  * 
about  doctoring,"  said  Oscar  scornfully.  "They 
say  when  horses  have  distemper  he  takes  the 
medicine  himself,   and  then  prays  over  the 
horses." 

Alexandra  spoke  up.  "That's  what  the 
Crows  said,  but  he  cured  their  horses,  all  the 
same.  Some  days  his  mind  is  cloudy,  like.  But 
if  you  can  get  him  on  a  clear  day,  you  can  learn 
a  great  deal  from  him.  He  understands  ani-  ' 
mals.  Did  n't  I  see  him  take  the  horn  off  the 
Berquist's  cow  when  she  had  torn  it  loose  and 
went  crazy?  She  was  tearing  all  over  the  place, 
knocking  herself  against  things.  And  at  last 
she  ran  out  on  the  roof  of  the  old  dugout  and 
her  legs  went  through  and  there  she  stuck,  bel- 

33 


O   PIONEERS! 

lowing.  Ivar  came  running  with  his  white  bag, 
and  the  moment  he  got  to  her  she  was  quiet  and 
let  Mm  saw  her  horn  off  and  daub  the  place 
with  tar." 

Emil  had  been  watching  his  sister,  his  face 
reflecting  the  sufferings  of  the  cow.  "And  then 
did  n't  it  hurt  her  any  more?"  he  asked. 

Alexandra  patted  him.  "No,  not  any  more. 
And  in  two  days  they  could  use  her  milk 
again." 

The  road  to  Ivar's  homestead  was  a  very  poor 
one.  He  had  settled  in  the  rough  country  across 
the  county  line,  where  no  one  lived  but  some 
Russians,-^- half  a  dozen  families  who  dwelt 
together  in  one  long  house,  divided  off  like 
barracks.  Ivar  had  explained  his  choice  by 
jsaying  that  the  fewer  neighbors  he  had,  the 
fewer  temptations.  Nevertheless,  when  one 
considered  that  his  chief  business  was  horse- 
doctoring,  it  seemed  rather  short-sighted  of 
him  to  live  in  the  most  inaccessible  place  he 
could  find.  The  Bergson  wagon  lurched  along 
over  the  rough  hummocks  and  grass  banks,  fol 
lowed  the  bottom  of  winding  draws,  or  skirted 
the  margin  of  wide  lagoons,  where  the  golden 

34 


THE   WILD   LAND 

coreopsis  grew  up  out  of  the  clear  water  and 
the  wild  ducks  rose  with  a  whirr  of  wings. 

Lou  looked  after  them  helplessly.  "lavish 
I'd  brought  my  gun,  anyway,  Alexandra,"  he 
said  fretfully.  "I  could  have  hidden  it  under 
the  straw  in  the  bottom  of  the  wagon." 

"Then  we'd  have  had  to  lie  to  Ivar.  Besides, 
they  say  he  can  smell  dead  birds.  And  if  he 
knew,  we  would  n't  get  anything  out  of  him, 
not  even  a  hammock.  I  want  to  talk  to  him, 
and  he  won't  talk  sense  if  he's  angry.  It  makes  - 
him  foolish." 

Lou  sniffed.  "Whoever  heard  of  him  talking 
sense,  anyhow !  I  'd  rather  have  ducks  for  sup 
per  than  Crazy  Ivar's  tongue." 

Emil  was  alarmed.  "Oh,  but,  Lou,  you  don't 
want  to  make  him  mad!  He  might  howl!" 

They  all  laughed  again,  and  Oscar  urged  the 

horses  up  the  crumbling  side  of  a  clay  bank. 

They  had  left  the  lagoons  and  the  red  grass 

behind  them.    In  Crazy  Ivar's  country  the 

g«ass  Was  short  and  gray,  the  draws  deeper 

^  than  they  were  in  the  Bergsons'  neighborhood, 

and  the  land  was  all  broken  up  into  hillocks 

and  clay  ridges.  The  wild  flowers  disappeared, 

•;'    35 


O   PIONEERS! 

• 

and  only  in  the  bottom  of  the  draws  and  gullies 
grew  a  few  of  the  very  toughest  and  hardiest: 
shoestring,  and  ironweed,  and  snow-on-the- 
mountain. 

"Look,  look,  Emil,  there's  Ivar's  big  pond!" 
Alexandra  pointed  to  a  shining  sheet  of  water 
that  lay  at  the  bottom  of  a  shallow  draw. 
At  one  end  of  the  pond  was  an  earthen  dam, 
planted  with  green  willdw  bushes,  and  above  it 
a  door  and  a  single  window  were  set  into  the 
hillside.  You  would  not  have  seen  them  at  all 
but  for  the  reflection  of  the  sunlight  upon  the 
four  panes  of  window-glass.  And  that  was  all 
you  saw.  Not  a  shed,  not  a  corral,  not  a  well, 
not  even  a  path  broken  in  the  curly  grass.  But 
for  the  piece  of  rusty  stovepipe  sticking  up 
through  the  sod,  you  could  have  walked  over 
the  roof  of  Ivar's  dwelling  without  dreaming 
that  you  were  near  a  human  habitation.  Ivar 
"  had  lived  for  three  years  in  the  clay  bank,  with- 
|  out  defiling  the  face  of  nature  any  more  than  the 
(i|Coyote  that  had  lived  there  before  him  had  done. 
When  the  Bergsons  drove  over  the  hill,  Ivar 
was  sitting  in  the  doorway  of  his  house,  reading 
the  Norwegian  Bible.  He  was  a  queerly  shaped 

36 


THE   WILD   LAND 

old  man,  with  a  thick,  powerful  body  set  on 
short  bow-legs.  His  shaggy  white  hair,  falling  in 
a  thick  mane  about  his  ruddy  cheeks,  made  him 
look  older  than  he  was.  He  was  barefoot,  but  he 
wore  a  clean  shirt  of  unbleached  cotton,  open  at 
the  neck.  He  always  put  on  a  clean  shirt  when 
Sunday  morning  came  round,  though  he  never 
went  to  church.  He  had  a  peculiar  religion  of 
his  own  and  could  not  get  on  with  any  of  the 
denominations.  Often  he  did  not  see  anybody 
from  one  week's  end  to  another.  He  kept  a 
calendar,  and  every  morning  he  checked  off  a 
day,  so  that  he  was  never  in  any  doubt  as  to 
which  day  of  the  week  it  was.  Ivar  hired  him 
self  out  in  threshing  and  corn-husking  time, 
and  he  doctored  sick  animals  when  he  was  sent 
for.  When  he  jvas  at  home,  he  made  ham 
mocks  out  of  twine  and  committed  chapters 
of  the  Bible  to  memory. 

Ivar  found  contentment  in  the  solitude  he^ 
had  sought  out  for  himself.  He  disliked  the 
litter  of  human  dwellings:  the  broken  food,  the 
bits  of  broken  china,  the  old  wash-boilers  and 
tea-kettles  thrown  into  the  sunflower  patch. 
He  preferred  the  cleanness  and  tidiness  of 

37 


O   PIONEERS! 

wild  sod.  He  always  said  that  the  badgers  had 
cleaner  houses  than  people,  and  that  when  he 
took  a  housekeeper  her  name  would  be  Mrs. 
V  Badger.    He  best  expressed  his  preference  for 
(  his  wild  homestead  by  saying  that  his  Bible 
j  seemed  truer  to  him  there.   If  one  stood  in  the 
/   doorway  of  his  cave,  and  looked  off  at  the  rough 
/    land,  the  smiling  sky,  the  curly  grass  white  in 
the  hot  sunlight;  if  one  listened  to  the  rapturous 
j      song  of  the  lark,  the  drumming  of  the  quail,  the 
burr  of  the  locust  against  that  vast  silence,  one 
understood  what  Ivar  meant. 

On  this  Sunday  afternoon  his  face  shone  with 
happiness.  He  closed  the  book  on  his  knee, 
keeping  the  place  with  his  horny  finger,  and 
repeated  softly:  — 

He  sendeth  the  springs  into  the  valleys,  which  run 

among  the  hills; 
They  give  drink  to  every  beast  of  the  field;  the  wild 

asses  quench  their  thirst. 
The  trees  of  the  Lord  are  full  of  sap;  the  cedars  of 

Lebanon  which  he  hath  planted; 
Where  the  birds  make  their  nests:  as  for  the  stork,  the 

fir  trees  are  her  house. 
The  high  hills  are  a  refuge  for  the  wild  goats;  and  the 

rocks  for  the  conies. 

38 


i 


THE  WILD   LAND 

Before  he  opened  his  Bible  again,  Ivar  heard 
the  Bergsons'  wagon  approaching,  and  he 
sprang  up  and  ran  toward  it. 

"No  guns,  no  guns!"  he  shouted,  waving  his 
arms  distractedly. 

"No,  Ivar,  no  guns,"  Alexandra  called  reas 
suringly. 

He  dropped  his  arms  and  went  up  to  the 
wagon,  smiling  amiably  and  looking  at  them 
out  of  his  pale  blue  eyes. 

"We  want  to  buy  a  hammock,  if  you  have 
one,"  Alexandra  explained,  "and  my  little 
brother,  here,  wants  to  see  your  big  pond,  where 
so  many  birds  come. " 

Ivar  smiled  foolishly,  and  began  rubbing  the 
horses'  noses  and  feeling  about  their  mouths 
behind  the  bits.  "Not  many  birds  just  now. 
A  few  ducks  this  morning;  and  some  snipe 
come  to  drink.  But  there  was  a  crane  last  week. 
She  spent  one  night  and  came  back  the  next 
evening.  I  don't  know  why.  It  is  not  her  sea 
son,  of  course.  Many  of  them  go  over  in  the 
fall.  Then  the  pond  is  full  of  strange  voices 
every  night." 

Alexandra  translated  for  Carl,  who  looked 
39 


O   PIONEERS! 

thoughtful.   "Ask  him,  Alexandra,  if  it  is  true 
that  a  sea  gull  came  here  once.  I  have  heard  so." 

She  had  some  difficulty  in  making  the  old 
man  understand. 

He  looked  puzzled  at  first,  then  smote  his 
hands  together  as  he  remembered.  "Oh,  yes, 
yes !  A  big  white  bird  with  long  wings  and  pink 
feet.  My!  what  a  voice  she  had!  She  came  in 
the  afternoon  and  kept  flying  about  the  pond 
and  screaming  until  dark.  She  was  in  trouble 
of  some  sort,  but  I  could  not  understand  her. 
She  was  going  over  to  the  other  ocean,  maybe, 
and  did  not  know  how  far  it  was.  She  was 
afraid  of  never  getting  there.  She  was  more 
mournful  than  our  birds  here;  she  cried  in  the 
night.  She  saw  the  light  from  my  window  and 
darted  up  to  it.  Maybe  she  thought  my  house 
was  a  boat,  she  was  such  a  wild  thing.  Next 
morning,  when  the  sun  rose,  I  went  out  to  take 
her  food,  but  she  flew  up  into  the  sky  and  went 
on  her  way."  Ivar  ran  his  fingers  through  his 
thick  hair.  "I  have  many  strange  birds  stop 
with  me  here.  They  come  from  very  far  away 
and  are  great  company.  I  hope  you  boys  never 
shoot  wild  birds?" 

40 


THE   WILD  LAND 

Lou  and  Oscar  grinned,  and  Ivar  shook  his 
bushy  head.  "Yes,  I  know  boys  are  thoughtless. 
But  these  wild  things  are  God's  birds.  He 
watches  over  them  and  counts  them,  as  we  do 
our  cattle;  Christ  says  so  in  the  New  Testa 


ment." 


"Now,  Ivar,"  Lou  asked,  "may  we  water 
our  horses  at  your  pond  and  give  them  some 
feed?  It's  a  bad  road  to  your  place." 

"Yes,  yes,  it  is."  The  old  man  scrambled 
about  and  began  to  loose  the  tugs.  "A  bad 
road,  eh,  girls?  And  the  bay  with  a  colt  at 
home!" 

Oscar  brushed  the  old  man  aside.  "We'll 
take  care  of  the  horses,  Ivar.  You  '11  be  finding 
some  disease  on  them.  Alexandra  wants  to  see 
your  hammocks." 

Ivar  led  Alexandra  and  Emil  to  his  little 
cave  house.  He  had  but  one  room,  neatly  plas 
tered  and  whitewashed,  and  there  was  a  wooden 
floor.  There  was  a  kitchen  stove,  a  table  cov 
ered  with  oilcloth,  two  chairs,  a  clock,  a  calen 
dar,  a  few  books  on  the  window-shelf;  nothing 
more.  But  the  place  was  as  clean  as  a  cup 
board. 


O   PIONEERS! 

"But  where  do  you  sleep,  Ivar?"  Emil  asked, 
looking  about. 

Ivar  unslung  a  hammock  from  a  hook  on  the 
wall;  in  it  was  rolled  a  buffalo  robe.  "There, 
my  son.  A  hammock  is  a  good  bed,  and  in 
winter  I  wrap  up  in  this  skin.  Where  I  go  to 
work,  the  beds  are  not  half  so  easy  as  this." 

By  this  time  Emil  had  lost  all  his  timidity. 
He  thought  a  cave  a  very  superior  kind  of 
house.  There  was  something  pleasantly  unusual 
about  it  and  about  Ivar.  "Do  the  birds  know 
you  will  be  kind  to  them,  Ivar?  Is  that  why  so 
many  come?"  he  asked. 

Ivar  sat  down  on  the  floor  and  tucked  his 
feet  under  him.  "  See,  little  brother,  they  have 
come  from  a  long  way,  and  they  are  very  tired. 
From  up  there  where  they  are  flying,  our  coun 
try  looks  dark  and  flat.  They  must  have  water 
to  drink  and  to  bathe  in  before  they  can  go  on 
with  their  journey.  They  look  this  way  and 
that,  and  far  below  them  they  see  something 
shining,  like  a  piece  of  glass  set  in  the  dark 
earth.  That  is  my  pond.  They  come  to  it  and 
are  not  disturbed.  Maybe  I  sprinkle  a  little 
corn.  They  tell  the  other  birds,  and  next  year 

42 


THE   WILD   LAND 

more  come  this  way.  They  have  their  roads  up 
there,  as  we  have  down  here." 

Emil  rubbed  his  knees  thoughtfully.  "And 
is  that  true,  Ivar,  about  the  head  ducks  falling 
back  when  they  are  tired,  and  the  hind  ones 
taking  their  place?" 

"Yes.  The  point  of  the  wedge  gets  the  worst 
of  it;  they  cut  the  wind.  They  can  only  stand 
it  there  a  little  while  —  half  an  hour,  maybe. 
Then  they  fall  back  and  the  wedge  splits  a  little, 
while  the  rear  ones  come  up  the  middle  to  the 
front.  Then  it  closes  up  and  they  fly  on,  with  a 
new  edge.  They  are  always  changing  like 
that,  up  in  the  air.  Never  any  confusion;  just 
like  soldiers  who  have  been  drilled." 

Alexandra  had  selected  her  hammock  by  the 
time  the  boys  came  up  from  the  pond.  They 
would  not  come  in,  but  sat  in  the  shade  of  the 
bank  outside  while  Alexandra  and  Ivar  talked 
about  the  birds  and  about  his  housekeeping, 
and  why  he  never  ate  meat,  fresh  or  salt. 

Alexandra  was  sitting  on  one  of  the  wooden 
chairs,  her  arms  resting  on  the  table.  Ivar  was 
sitting  on  the  floor  at  her  feet.  "  Ivar,"  she  said 
suddenly,  beginning  to  trace  the  pattern  on  the 

43 


O   PIONEERS! 

oilcloth  with  her  forefinger,  "I  came  to-day 
more  because  I  wanted  to  talk  to  you  than  be 
cause  I  wanted  to  buy  a  hammock." 

"Yes?"  The  old  man  scraped  his  bare  feet 
on  the  plank  floor. 

"We  have  a  big  bunch  of  hogs,  Ivar.  I 
would  n't  sell  in  the  spring,  when  everybody 
advised  me  to,  and  now  so  many  people  are 
losing  their  hogs  that  I  am  frightened.  What 
can  be  done?" 

Ivar's  little  eyes  began  to  shine.  They  lost 
their  vagueness. 

"You  feed  them  swill  and  such  stuff?  Of 
course!  And  sour  milk?  Oh,  yes!  And  keep 
them  in  a  stinking  pen?  I  tell  you,  sister,  the 
hogs  of  this  country  are  put  upon!  They  be 
come  unclean,  like  the  hogs  in  the  Bible.  If  you 
kept  your  chickens  like  that,  what  would  hap 
pen?  You  have  a  little  sorghum  patch,  maybe? 
Put  a  fence  around  it,  and  turn  the  hogs  in. 
Build  a  shed  to  give  them  shade,  a  thatch  on 
poles.  Let  the  boys  haul  water  to  them  in  bar 
rels,  clean  water,  and  plenty.  Get  them  off  the 
old  stinking  ground,  and  do  not  let  them  go 
back  there  until  winter.  Give  them  only  grain 

44 


THE   WILD   LAND 

and  clean  feed,  such  as  you  would  give  horses 
or  cattle.  Hogs  do  not  like  to  be  filthy." 

The  boys  outside  the  door  had  been  listening. 
Lou  nudged  his  brother.  "Come,  the  horses 
are  done  eating.  Let's  hitch  up  and  get  out  of 
here.  He'll  fill  her  full  of  notions.  She '11  be  for 
having  the  pigs  sleep  with  us,  next." 

Oscar  grunted  and  got  up.  Carl,  who  could  \ 
not  understand  what  Ivar  said,  saw  that  the    \ 
two  boys  were  displeased.  They  did  not  mind  / 

\, 

hard  work,  but  they  hated  experiments  and    \ 
could  never  sec  the  use  of  taking  pains.  Even     ' 
Lou,  who  was  more  elastic  than  his  older  bro 
ther,  disliked  to  do  anything  different  from 
their  neighbors.    He  felt  that  it  made  them 
conspicuous  and  gave  people  a  chance  to  talk     > 
about  them.  *^ 

Once  they  were  on  the  homeward  road,  the 
boys  forgot  their  ill-humor  and  joked  about 
Ivar  and  his  birds.  Alexandra  did  not  propose 
any  reforms  in  the  care  of  the  pigs,  and  they 
hoped  she  had  forgotten  Ivar's  talk.  They 
agreed  that  he  was  crazier  than  ever,  and  would 
never  be  able  to  prove  up  on  his  land  because 
he  worked  it  so  little.  Alexandra  privately 

45 


O   PIONEERS! 

resolved  that  she  would  have  a  talk  with  Ivar 
about  this  and  stir  him  up.  The  boys  persuaded 
Carl  to  stay  for  supper  and  go  swimming  in  the 
pasture  pond  after  dark. 

That  evening,  after  she  had  washed  the  sup 
per  dishes,  Alexandra  sat  down  on  the  kitchen 
doorstep,  while  her  mother  was  mixing  the 
bread.  It  was  a  still,  deep-breathing  summer 
night,  full  of  the  smell  of  the  hay  fields.  Sounds 
of  laughter  and  splashing  came  up  from  the 
pasture,  and  when  the  moon  rose  rapidly  above 
the  bare  rim  of  the  prairie,  the  pond  glittered 
like  polished  metal,  and  she  could  see  the  flash 
of  white  bodies  as  the  boys  ran  about  the  edge, 
or  jumped  into  the  water.  Alexandra  watched 
the  shimmering  pool  dreamily,  but  eventually 
her  eyes  went  back  to  the  sorghum  patch  south 
of  the  barn,  where  she  was  planning  to  make  her 
new  pig  corral. 


IV 

FOR  the  first  three  years  after  John  Bergson's 
death,  the  affairs  of  his  family  prospered.  Then 
came  the  hard  times  that  brought  everyone  on 
the  Divide  to  the  brink  of  despair;  three  years 
of  drouth  and  failure,  the  last  struggle  of  a  wild 
soil  against  the  encroaching  plowshare.  The 
first  of  these  fruitless  summers  the  Bergson  boys 
bore  courageously.  The  failure  of  the  corn 
crop  made  labor  cheap.  Lou  and  Oscar  hired 
two  men  and  put  in  bigger  crops  than  ever 
before.  They  lost  everything  they  spent.  The 
whole  country  was  discouraged.  Farmers  who 
were  already  in  debt  had  to  give  up  their 
land.  A  few  foreclosures  demoralized  the 
county.  The  settlers  sat  about  on  the  wooden 
sidewalks  "in  the  little  town  and  told  each  other 
that  the  country  was  never  meant  for  men  to 
live  in.;  the  thing  to  do  was  to  get  back  to  Iowa, 
to  Illinois,  to  any  place  that  had  been  proved 
habitable.  The  Bergson  boys,  certainly,  would 
have  been  happier  with  their  uncle  Otto,  in  the 
bakery  shop  in  Chicago.  Like  most  of  their 

47 


O   PIONEERS! 

I  neighbors,  they  were  meant  to  follow  in  paths 

I  already  marked  out  for  them,  not  to  break 

I  trails  in  a  new  country.   A  steady  job,  a  few 

holidays,   nothing  to  think  about,   and  they 

would  have  been  very  happy.   It  was  no  fault 

of  theirs  that  they  had  been  dragged  into  the 

wilderness    when    they   were   little   boys.     A 

pioneer  should  have  imagination,   should  be 

I  able  to  enjoy  the  idea  of  things  more  than  the 

things  themselves. 

The  second  of  these  barren  summers  was 
passing.  One  September  afternoon  Alexandra 
had  gone  over  to  the  garden  across  the  draw  to 
dig  sweet  potatoes  —  they  had  been  thriving 
upon  the  weather  that  was  fatal  to  everything 
else.  But  when  Carl  Linstrum  came  up  the 
garden  rows  to  find  her,  she  was  not  working. 
She  was  standing  lost  in  thought,  leaning  upon 
her  pitchfork,  her  sunbonnet  lying  beside  her 
on  the  ground.  The  dry  garden  patch  smelled 
of  drying  vines  and  was  strewn  with  yellow 
seed-cucumbers  and  pumpkins  and  citrons. 
At  one  end,  next  the  rhubarb,  grew  feathery 
asparagus,  with  red  berries.  Down  the  middle 
of  the  garden  was  a  row  of  gooseberry  and  cur- 


THE   WILD  LAND 

rant  bushes.  A  few  tough  zenias  and  marigolds 
and  a  row  of  scarlet  sage  bore  witness  to  the 
buckets  of  water  that  Mrs.  Bergson  had  carried 
there  after  sundown,  against  the  prohibition  of 
her  sons.  Carl  came  quietly  and  slowly  up  the 
garden  path,  looking  intently  at  Alexandra. 
She  did  not  hear  him.  She  was  standing  per 
fectly  still,  with  that  serious  ease  so  character 
istic  of  her.  Her  thick,  reddish  braids,  twisted 
about  her^head,  fairly  burned  in  the  sunlight. 
The  air  was  cool  enough  to  make  the  warm  sun 
pleasant  on  one's  back  and  shoulders,  and  so 
clear  that  the  eye  could  follow  a  hawk  up  and 
up,  into  the  blazing  blue  depths  of  the  sky. 
Even  Carl,  never  a  very  cheerful  boy,  and  con-,* 
siderably  darkened  by  these  last  two  bitter 
years,  loved  the  country  on  days  like  this,  felt  • 
something  strong  and  young  and  wild  come  out 
of  it,  that  laughed  at  care. 

"Alexandra,"  he  said  as  he  approached  her, 
"I  want  to  talk  to  you.  Let's  sit  down  by  the 
gooseberry  bushes."  He  picked  up  her  sack  of 
potatoes  and  they  crossed  the  garden.  "Boys 
gone  to  town?"  he  asked  as  he  sank  down  on 
the  warm,  sun-baked  earth.  "Well,  we  have 

49 


O   PIONEERS! 

made  up  our  minds  at  last,  Alexandra.  We  are 
really  going  away." 

She  looked  at  him  as  if  she  were  a  little  fright 
ened.  "Really,  Carl?  Is  it  settled?" 

"Yes,  father  has  heard  from  St.  Louis,  and 
they  will  give  him  back  his  old  job  in  the  cigar 
factory.  He  must  be  there  by  the  first  of 
November.  They  are  taking  on  new  men  then. 
We  will  sell  the  place  for  whatever  we  can  get, 
and  auction  the  stock.  We  have  n't  enough  to 
ship.  I  am  going  to  learn  engraving  with  a 
German  engraver  there,  and  then  try  to  get 
work  in  Chicago." 

Alexandra's  hands  dropped  in  her  lap.  Her 
eyes  became  dreamy  and  filled  with  tears. 

Carl's  sensitive  lower  lip  trembled.  He 
scratched  in  the  soft  earth  beside  him  with  a 
stick.  "That's  all  I  hate  about  it,  Alexandra," 
he  said  slowly.  "You've  stood  by  us  through 
so  much  and  helped  father  out  so  many  times, 
and  now  it  seems  as  if  we  were  running  off  and 
leaving  you  to  face  the  worst  of  it.  But  it  is  n't 
as  if  we  could  really  ever  be  of  any  help  to  you. 
We  are  only  one  more  drag,  one  more  thing  you 
look  out  for  and  feel  responsible  for.  Father 

50 


THE  WILD  LAND 

was  never  meant  for  a  farmer,  you  know  that. 
And  I  hate  it.  We'd  only  get  in  deeper  and 
deeper." 

"Yes,  yes,  Carl,  I  know.  You  are  wasting 
your  life  here.  You  are  able  to  do  much  better 
things.  You  are  nearly  nineteen  now,  and  I 
would  n't  have  you  stay.  I  've  always  hoped 
you  would  get  away.  But  I  can't  help  feeling 
scared  when  I  think  how  I  will  nJss  you  — 
more  than  you  will  ever  know."  She  brushed 
the  tears  from  her  cheeks,  not  trying  to  hide 
them. 

"But,  Alexandra,"  he  said  sadly  and  wist 
fully,  "I've  never  been  any  real  help  to  you, 
beyond  sometimes  trying  to  keep  the  boys  in  a 
good  humor." 

Alexandra  smiled  and  shook  her  head.  "Oh, 
it's  not  that.  Nothing  like  that.  It's  by  under-| 
standing  me,  and  the  boys,  and  mother,  thatf 
you've  helped  me.  I  expect  that  is  the  onty! 
way  one  person  ever  really  can  help  another^ 
I  think  you  are  about  the  only  one  that  ever 
helped  me.  Somehow  it  will  take  more  courage 
to  bear  your  going  than  everything  that  has 
happened  before." 


O   PIONEERS! 
• 

Carl  looked  at  the  ground.  "You  see,  we've 
all  depended  so  on  you,"  he  said,  "even  father. 
He  makes  me  laugh.  When  anything  comes  up 
he  always  says, c  I  wonder  what  the  Bergsons  are 
going  to  do  about  that?  I  guess  I'll  go  and  ask 
her.'  I'll  never  forget  that  time,  when  we  first 
came  here,  and  our  horse  had  the  colic,  and  I  ran 
over  to  your  place  —  your  father  was  away, 
and  you  came  home  with  me  and  showed  father 
how  to  let  the  wind  out  of  the  horse.  You  were 
only  a  little  girl  then,  but  you  knew  ever  so 
much  more  about  farm  work  than  poor  father. 
You  remember  how  homesick  I  used  to  get, 
and  what  long  talks  we  used  to  have  coming 
from  school?  We've  someway  always  felt  alike 
about  things." 

/T  "Yes,  that's  it;  we've  liked  the  same  things 

land  we've  liked  them  together,  without  any- 

/  body  else  knowing.  And  we've  had  good  times, 

^hunting  for  Christmas  trees  and  going  for  ducks 

and  making  our  plum  wine  together  every  year. 

We've  never  either  of  us  had  any  other  close 

friend.    And   now — "  Alexandra  wiped   her 

eyes  with  the  corner  of  her  apron,  "and  now  I 

must  remember  that  you  are  going  where  you 

52 


THE   WILD   LAND 

will  have  many  friends,  and  will  find  the  work 
you  were  meant  to  do.  But  you  '11  write  to  me, 
Carl?  That  will  mean  a  great  deal  to  me  here." 

"I'll  write  as  long  as  I  live,"  cried  the  boy 
impetuously.  "And  I'll  be  working  for  you  as 
much  as  for  myself,  Alexandra.  I  want  to  do 
something  you'll  like  and  be  proud  of.  I'm  a 
fool  here,  but  I  know  I  can  do  something!"  He 
sat  up  and  frowned  at  the  red  grass. 

Alexandra  sighed.  "How  discouraged  the 
boys  will  be  when  they  hear.  They  always 
come  home  from  town  discouraged,  anyway. 
So  many  people  are  trying  to  leave  the  country, 
and  they  talk  to  our  boys  and  make  them  low- 
spirited.  I  'm  afraid  they  are  beginning  to  feel 
hard  toward  me  because  I  won't  listen  to  any 
talk  about  going.  Sometimes  I  feel  like  I'm 
getting  tired  of  standing  up  for  this  country." 

"I  won't  tell  the  boys  yet,  if  you'd  rather 
not." 

"Oh,  I'll  tell  them  myself,  to-night,  when 
they  come  home.  They'll  be  talking  wild,  any 
way,  and  no  good  comes  of  keeping  bad  news. 
It's  all  harder  on  them  than  it  is  on  me.  Lou 
wants  to  get  married,  poor  boy,  and  he  can't 

53 


O   PIONEERS! 

until  times  are  better.  See,  there  goes  the  sun, 
Carl.  I  must  be  getting  back.  Mother  will  want 
her  potatoes.  It's  chilly  already,  the  moment 
the  light  goes." 

Alexandra  rose  and  looked  about.  A  golden 
afterglow  throbbed  in  the  west,  but  the  coun 
try  already  looked  empty  and  mournful.  A 
dark  moving  mass  came  over  the  western  hill, 
the  Lee  boy  was  bringing  in  the  herd  from  the 
other  half-section.  Emil  ran  from  the  windmill 
to  open  the  corral  gate.  From  the  log  house,  on 
the  little  rise  across  the  draw,  the  smoke  was 
curling.  The  cattle  lowed  and  bellowed.  In 
the  sky  the  pale  half-moon  was  slowly  silvering. 
Alexandra  and  Carl  walked  together  down  the 
potato  rows.  "I  have  to  keep  telling  myself 
what  is  going  to  happen,"  she  said  softly. 
"Since  you  have  been  here,  ten  years  now,  I 
have  never  really  been  lonely.  But  I  can 
remember  what  it  was  like  before.  Now  I  shall 
have  nobody  but  Emil.  But  he  is  my  boy,  and 
he  is  tender-hearted." 

That  night,  when  the  boys  were  called  to 
supper,  they  sat  down  moodily.  They  had 
worn  their  coats  to  town,  but  they  ate  in  their 

54 


THE   WILD  XAND 

striped  shirts  and  suspenders.  They  were  grown 
men  now,  and,  as  Alexandra  said,  for  the  last 
few  years  they  had  been  growing  more  and 
more  like  themselves.  Lou  was  still  the  slighter 
of  the  two,  the  quicker  and  more  intelligent,  but 
apt  to  go  off  at  half-cock.  He  had  a  lively  blue 
eye,  a  thin,  fair  skin  (always  burned  red  to  the 
neckband  of  his  shirt  in  summer),  stiff,  yellow 
hair  that  would  not  lie  down  on  his  head,  and  a 
bristly  little  yellow  mustache,  of  which  he 
was  very  proud.  Oscar  could  not  grow  a  mus 
tache;  his  pale  face  was  as  bare  as  an  egg,  and 
his  white  eyebrows  gave  it  an  empty  look.  He 
was  a  man  of  powerful  body  and  unusual  endur 
ance;  the  sort  of  man  you  could  attach  to  a 
corn-sheller  as  you  would  an  engine.  He  would 
turn  it  all  day,  without  hurrying,  without  slow 
ing  down.  But  he  was  as  indolent  of  mind  as 
he  was  unsparing  of  his  body.  His  love 
routine  amounted  to  a  vice.  He  worked  like  an 
insect,  always  doing  the  same  thing  over  in  the 
same  way,  regardless  of  whether  it  was  best  or 
no,  He  felt  that  there  was  a  sovereign  virtue 
in  mere  bodily  toil,  and  he  rather  liked  to  do 
things  in  the  hardest  way.  If  a  field  had  once 

55 


O   PIONEERS! 

been  in  corn,  he  could  n't  bear  to  put  it  into 
wheat.  He  liked  to  begin  his  corn-planting  at 
the  same  time  every  year,  whether  the  season 
were  backward  or  forward.  He  seemed  to  feel 
that  by  his  own  irreproachable  regularity  he 
would  clear  himself  of  blame  and  reprove  the 
weather.  When  the  wheat  crop  failed,  he 
threshed  the  straw  at  a  dead  loss  to  demon 
strate  how  little  grain  there  was,  and  thus 
prove  his  case  against  Providence. 

Lou,  on  the  other  hand,  was"  fussy  and 
flighty;  always  planned  to  get  through  two 
days'  work  in  one,  and  often  got  only  the  least 
important  things  done.  He  liked  to  keep  the 
place  up,  but  he  never  got  round  to  doing  odd 
jobs  until  he  had  to  neglect  more  pressing  work 
to  attend  to  them.  In  the  middle  of  the  wheat 
harvest,  when  the  grain  was  over-ripe  and  every 
hand  was  needed,  he  would  stop  to  mend  fences 
or  to  patch  the  harness ;  then  dash  down  to  the 
field  and  overwork  and  be  laid  up  in  bed  for  a 
week.  The  two  boys  balanced  each  other,  and 
they  pulled  well  together.  They  had  been  good 
friends  since  they  were  children.  One  seldom 
went  anywhere,  even  to  town,  without  the  other. 

56 


THE   WILD   LAND 

Tonight,  after  they  sat  down  to  supper, 
Oscar  kept  looking  at  Lou  as  if  he  expected  him 
to  say  something,  and  Lou  blinked  his  eyes  and 
frowned  at  his  plate.  It  was  Alexandra  herself 
who  at  last  opened  the  discussion. 

"The  Linstrums,"  she  said  calmly,  as  she 
put  another  plate  of  hot  biscuit  on  the  table, 
"are  going  back  to  St.  Louis.  The  old  man  is 
going  to  work  in  the  cigar  factory  again." 

At  this  Lou  plunged  in.  "You  see,  Alex 
andra,  everybody  who  can  crawl  out  is  going 
away.  There's  no  use  of  us  trying  to  stick  it 
out,  just  to  be  stubborn.  There's  something  in 
knowing  when  to  quit." 

"Where  do  you  want  to  go,  Lou?" 

"Any  place  where  things  will  grow,"  said 
Oscar  grimly. 

Lou  reached  for  a  potato.  "  Chris  Arnson  has 
traded  his  half-section  for  a  place  down  on  the 
river." 

"Who  did  he  trade  with?" 

"Charley  Fuller,  in  town." 

"Fuller  the  real  estate  man?  You  see,  Lou, 
that  Fuller  has  a  head  on  him.  He's  buy 
ing  and  trading  for  every  bit  of  land  he  can 

57 


O   PIONEERS! 

get  up  here.  It'll  make  him  a  rich  man,  some 
day." 

"He's  rich  now,  that's  why  he  can  take  a 
chance.", 

"Why  can't  we?  We'll  live  longer  than  he 
will.  Some  day  the  land  itself  will  be  worth 
more  than  all  we  can  ever  raise  on  it." 

Lou  laughed.  "It  could  be  worth  that,  and 
still  not  be  worth  much.  Why,  Alexandra,  you 
don't  know  what  you're  talking  about.  Our 
place  wouldn't  bring  now  what  it  would  six 
years  ago.  The  fellows  that  settled  up  here  just 
made  a  mistake.  Now  they're  beginning  to  see 
this  high  land  was  n't  never  meant  to  grow  no 
thing  on,  and  everybody  who  ain't  fixed  to  graze 
cattle  is  trying  to  crawl  out.  It's  too  high  to 
farm  up  here.  All  the  Americans  are  skinning 
out.  That  man  Percy  Adams,  north  of  town, 
told  me  that  he  was  going  to  let  Fuller  take  his 
land  and  stuff  for  four  hundred  dollars  and  a 
ticket  to  Chicago." 

"There's  Fuller  again!"  Alexandra  ex 
claimed.  "  I  wish  that  man  would  take  me  for  a 
partner.  He's  feathering  his  nest!  If  only  poor 
people  could  learn  a  little  from  rich  people! 

58 


THE   WILD  LAND 

But  all  these  fellows  who  are  running  off  are 
bad  farmers,  like  poor  Mr.  Linstrum.  They 
could  n't  get  ahead  even  in  good  years,  and  they 
all  got  into  debt  while  father  was  getting  out. 
I  think  we  ought  to  hold  on  as  long  as  we  can  on 
father's  account.  He  was  so  set  on  keeping  this 
land.  He  must  have  seen  harder  times  than  this, 
here.  How  was  it  in  the  early  days,  mother?" 

Mrs.  Bergson  was  weeping  quietly.  These 
family  discussions  always  depressed  her,  and 
made  her  remember  all  that  she  had  been  torn 
away  from.  "I  don't  see  why  the  boys  are 
always  taking  on  about  going  away,"  she  said, 
wiping  her  eyes.  "I  don't  want  to  move  again; 
out  to  some  raw  place,  maybe,  where  we'd  be 
worse  off  than  we  are  here,  and  all  to  do  over 
again.  I  won't  move!  If  the  rest  of  you  go,  I 
will  ask  some  of  the  neighbors  to  take  me  in, 
and  stay'and  be  buried  by  father.  I'm  not 
going  to  leave  him  by  himself  on  the  prairie, 
for  cattle  to  run  over."  She  began  to  cry  more 
bitterly. 

The  boys  looked  angry.  Alexandra  put  a 
soothing  hand  on  her  mother's  shoulder. 
"There's  no  question  of  that,  mother.  You 

59 


O   PIONEERS! 

don't  have  to  go  if  you  don't  want  to.  A  third 
of  the  place  belongs  to  you  by  American  law, 
and  we  can't  sell  without  your  consent.  We  only 
want  you  to  advise  us.  How  did  it  use  to  be 
when  you  and  father  first  came?  Was  it  really 
as  bad  as  this,  or  not?" 

"Oh,  worse!  Much  worse,"  moaned  Mrs. 
Bergson.  "Drouth,  chince-bugs,  hail,  every 
thing!  My  garden  all  cut  to  pieces  like  sauer 
kraut.  No  grapes  on  the  creek,  no  nothing. 
The  people  all  lived  just  like  coyotes." 

Oscar  got  up  and  tramped  out  of  the  kitchen. 

Lou  followed  him.    They  felt  that  Alexandra 

had  taken  an  unfair  advantage  in  turning  their 

mother  loose  on  them.  The  next  morning  they 

were  silent  and  reserved.    They  did  not  offer 

to  take  the  women  to  church,  but  went  down 

to  the  barn  immediately  after  breakfast  and 

stayed  there  all  day.  When  Carl  Linstrum  came 

over  in  the  afternoon,  Alexandra  winked  to 

him  and  pointed  toward  the  barn.   He  under- 

,  stood  her  and  went  down  to  play  cards  with  the 

•  boys.  They  believed  that  a  very  wicked  thing 

I  to  do  on  Sunday,  and  it  relieved  their  feelings. 

Alexandra  stayed  in  the  house.  On  Sunday 

60 


THE   WILD   LAND 

afternoon  Mrs.  Bergson  always  took  a  nap,  and 
Alexandra  read.  During  the  week  she  read  only 
the  newspaper,  but  on  Sunday,  and  in  the  long 
evenings  of  winter,  she  read  a  good  deal;  read 
a  few  things  over  a  great  many  times.  She  knew 
long  portions  of  the  "Frithjof  Saga"  by  heart, 
and,  like  most  Swedes  who  read  at  all,  she  was 
fond  of  Longfellow's  verse,  —  the  ballads  and 
the  "Golden  Legend"  and  "The  Spanish  Stu 
dent."  To-day  she  sat  in  the  wooden  rocking- 
chair  with  the  Swedish  Bible  open  on  her  knees, 
but  she  was  not  reading  She  was  looking 
thoughtfully  away  at  the  x  oint  where  the  up 
land  road  disappeared  over  the  rim  of  the 
prairie.  Her  body  was  in  an  attitude  of  perfect 
repose,  such  as  it  was  apt  to  take  when  she  was 
thinking  earnestly.  Her  mind  was  slow,  truth 
ful,  steadfast.  She  had  not  the  least  spark  of 
cleverness— — 

All  afternoon  the  sitting-room  was  full  of 
quiet  and  sunlight.  Emil  was  making  rabbit 
traps  in  the  kitchen  shed.  The  hens  were  cluck 
ing  and  scratching  brown  holes  in  the  flower 
beds,  and  the  wind  was  teasing  the  prince's 
feather  by  the  door. 

61 


O   PIONEERS! 

That  evening  Carl  came  in  with  the  boys  to 
supper. 

"Emil,"  said  Alexandra,  when  they  were  all 
seated  at  the  table,  "how  would  you  like  to  go 
traveling?  Because  I  am  going  to  take  a  trip, 
and  you  can  go  with  me  if  you  want  to." 

The  boys  looked  up  in  amazement;  they  were 
always  afraid  of  Alexandra's  schemes.  Carl 
was  interested. 

"I've  been  thinking,  boys,"  she  went  on, 
"that  maybe  I  am  too  set  against  making  a 
change.  I'm  going  to  take  Brigham  and  the 
buckboard  to-morrow  and  drive  down  to 
the  river  country  and  spend  a  few  days  looking 
over  what  they've  got  down  there.  If  I  find 
anything  good,  you  boys  can  go  down  and  make 
a  trade." 

"Nobody  down  there  will  trade  for  anything 
up  here,"  said  Oscar  gloomily. 

"That's  just  what  I  want  to  find  out.  Maybe 
they  are  just  as  discontented  down  there  as  we 
are  up  here.  Things  away  from  home  often  look 
better  than  they  are.  You  know  what  your 
Hans  Andersen  book  says,  Carl,  about  the 
Swedes  liking  to  buy  Danish  bread  and  the 

62 


THE  WILD   LAND 

Danes  liking  to  buy  Swedish  bread,  because 
people  always  think  the  bread  of  another 
country  is  better  than  their  own.  Anyway, 
I've  heard  so  much  about  the  river  farms,  I 
won't  be  satisfied  till  I've  seen  for  myself." 

Lou  fidgeted.  "Look  out!  Don't  agree  to 
anything.  Don't  let  them  fool  you." 

Lou  was  apt  to  be  fooled  himself.  He  had  not 
yet  learned  to  keep  away  from  the  shell-game 
wagons  that  followed  the  circus. 

After  supper  Lou  put  on  a  necktie  and  went 
across  the  fields  to  court  Annie  Lee,  and  Carl 
and  Oscar  sat  down  to  a  game  of  checkers,  while 
Alexandra  read  "The  Swiss  Family  Robinson" 
aloud  to  her  mother  and  Emil.  It  was  not  long 
before  the  two  boys  at  the  table  neglected  their 
game  to  listen.  They  were  all  big  children 
together,  and  they  found  the  adventures  of  the 
family  in  the  tree  house  so  absorbing  that  they 
gave  them  their  undivided  attention. 


V 

ALEXANDRA  and  Emil  spent  five  days  down 
among  the  river  farms,  driving  up  and  down 
the  valley.  Alexandra  talked  to  the  men  about 
their  crops  and  to  the  women  about  their  poul 
try.  She  spent  a  whole  day  with  one  young 
farmer  who  had  been  away  at  school,  and  who 
was  experimenting  with  a  new  kind  of  clover 
hay.  She  learned  a  great  deal.  As  they  drove 
along,  she  and  Emil  talked  and  planned.  At 
last,  on  the  sixth  day,  Alexandra  turned  Brig- 
ham's  head  northward  and  left  the  river  behind. 

"There's  nothing  in  it  for  us  down  there, 
Emil.  There  are  a  few  fine  farms,  but  they  are 
owned  by  the  rich  men  in  town,  and  could  n't  be 
bought.  Most  of  the  land  is  rough  and  hilly. 
They  can  always  scrape  along  down  there,  but 
they  can  never  do  anything  big.  Down  there 
they  have  a  little  certainty,  but  up  with  us 
there  is  a  big  chance.  We  must  have  faith  in 
the  high  land,  Emil.  I  want  to  hold  on  harder 
than  ever,  and  when  you  're  a  man  you  '11  thank 
me."  She  urged  Brigham  forward. 

64 


THE  WILD   LAND 

When  the  road  began  to  climb  the  first  long 
swells  of  the  Divide,  Alexandra  hummed  an  old 
Swedish  hymn,  and  Emil  wondered  why  his 
sister  looked  so  happy.  Her  face  was  so  radiant 
that  he  felt  shy  about  asking  her.   For  the  first  * 
time,_  perhaps,  since  that  land,  emerged  from 
the  waters  of  geologic  ages,  a  human  face  was_ 
set  toward  itwith  love  and  yearning.   It  seemed 
beautiful  to  her,  rich  and  strong  and  glorious.^ 
Her  eyes  drank  in  the  breadth  of  it,  until  her 
tears  blinded  her.-  Then  the  Genius  of   the 
Divide,  the  great,  free  spirit  which  breathes 
across  it,  must  have  bent  lower  than  it  ever  . 
bent  to  a  human  will  before.  The  history  of 
every  country  begins  in  the  heart  of  a  man  or 
a  woman. 

Alexandra  reached  home  in  the  afternoon. 
That  evening  she  held  a  family  council  and  told 
her  brothers  all  that  she  had  seen  and  heard. 

"I  want  you  boys  to  go  down  yourselves  and 
look  it  over.  Nothing  will  convince  you  like 
seeing  with  your  own  eyes.  The  river  land  was 
settled  before  this,  and  so  they  are  a  few  years 
ahead  of  us,  and  have  learned  more  about  farm 
ing.  The  land  sells  for  three  times  as  much  as 

65 


O   PIONEERS! 

this,  but  in  five  years  we  will  double  it.  The 
rich  men  down  there  own  all  the  best  land,  and 
they  are  buying  all  they  can  get.  The  thing  to 
do  is  to  sell  our  cattle  and  what  little  old  corn 
we  have,  and  buy  the  Linstrum  place.  Then 
the  next  thing  to  do  is  to  take  out  two  loans  on 
our  half-sections,  and  buy  Peter  Crow's  place; 
raise  every  dollar  we  can,  and  buy  every  acre 
we  can." 

"Mortgage  the  homestead  again?"  Lou  cried. 
He  sprang  up  and  began  to  wind  the  clock 
furiously.  "I  won't  slave  to  pay  off  another 
mortgage.  I'll  never  do  it.  You'd  just  as 
soon  kill  us  all,  Alexandra,  to  carry  out  some 
scheme!" 

Oscar  rubbed  his  high,  pale  forehead.  "How 
do  you  propose  to  pay  off  your  mortgages?" 

Alexandra  looked  from  one  to  the  other  and 
bit  her  lip.  They  had  never  seen  her  so  ner 
vous.  "See  here,"  she  brought  out  at  last. 
"We  borrow  the  money  for  six  years.  Well, 
with  the  money  we  buy  a  half-section  from 
Linstrum  and  a  half  from  Crow,  and  a  quarter 
from  Struble,  maybe.  That  will  give  us  up 
wards  of  fourteen  hundred  acres,  won't  it? 

66 


THE   WILD   LAND 

You  won't  have  to  pay  off  your  mortgages  for 
six  years.  By  that  time,  any  of  this  land  will  be 
worth  thirty  dollars  an  acre  —  it  will  be  worth 
fifty,  but  we'll  say  thirty;  then  you  can  sell  a 
garden  patch  anywhere,  and  pay  off  a  debt  of 
sixteen  hundred  dollars.  It's  not  the  principal 
I'm  worried  about,  it's  the  interest  and  taxes. 
We'll  have  to  strain  to  meet  the  payments.  But 
as  sure  as  we  are  sitting  here  to-night,  we  can 
sit  down  here  ten  years  from  now  independent 
landowners,  not  struggling  farmers  any  longer. 
The  chance  that  father  was  always  looking  for 
has  come." 

Lou  was  pacing  the  floor.  "But  how  do  you 
know  that  land  is  going  to  go  up  enough  to  pay 
the  mortgages  and  — " 

"And  make  us  rich  besides  ?"  Alexandra  put 
in  firmly.  "I  can't  explain  that,  Lou.  You'll 
have  to  take  my  word  for  it.  I  know,  that's  all. 
When  you  drive  about  over  the  country  you 
can  feel  it  coming." 

Oscar  had  been  sitting  with  his  head  lowered, 
his  hands  hanging  between  his  knees.  "But  we 
can't  work  so  much  land,"  he  said  dully,  as  if  he 
were  talking  to  himself.  "We  can't  even  try. 


O   PIONEERS! 

It  would  just  lie  there  and  we'd  work  ourselves 
to  death."  He  sighed,  and  laid  his  calloused 
fist  on  the  table. 

Alexandra's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  She  put 
her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "You  poor  boy,  you 
won't  have  to  work  it.  The  men  in  town  who 
are  buying  up  other  people's  land  don'.t  try  to 
farm  it.  They  are  the  men  to  watch,  in  a  new 
country.  Let 's  try  to  do  like  the  shrewd  ones, 
and  not  like  these  stupid  fellows.  I  don't  want 
you  boys  always  to  have  to  work  like  this.  I 
want  you  to  be  independent,  and  Emil  to  go 
to  school." 

Lou  held  his  head  as  if  it  were  splitting. 
/'Everybody  will  say  we  are  crazy.  It  must  be 
/crazy,  or  everybody  would  be  doing  it." 

"If  they  were,  we  would  n't  have  much 
chance.  No,  Lou,  I  was  talking  about  that  with 
the  smart  young  man  who  is  raising  the  new 
kind  of  clover.  He^ays  the  right  thing  is  usu 
ally  just  what  evejybody^don/t^do.  Why  are 
weBetter  fixed  than  any  of  our  neighbors? 
Because  father  had  more  brains.  Our  people 
were  better  people  than  these  in  the  old  coun 
try.  We  ought  to  do  more  than  they  do,  and  see 

68 


THE  WILD  LAND 

further  ahead.  Yes,  mother,  I'm  going  to  clear 
the  table  now." 

Alexandra  rose.  The  boys  went  to  the  stable 
to  see  to  the  stock,  and  they  were  gone  a  long 
while.  When  they  came  back  Lou  played  on 
his  dragharmonika  and  Oscar  sat  figuring  at  his 
father's  secretary  all  evening.  They  said  no 
thing  more  about  Alexandra's  project,  but  she 
felt  sure  now  that  they  would  consent  to  it. 
Just  before  bedtime  Oscar  went  out  for  a  pail  of 
water.  When  he  did  not  come  back,  Alexandra 
threw  a  shawl  over  her  head  and  ran  down  the 
path  to  the  windmill.  She  found  him  sitting 
there  with  his  head  in  his  hands,  and  she  sat 
down  beside  him. 

"Don't  do  anything  you  don't  want  to  do, 
Oscar,"  she  whispered.  She  waited  a  moment, 
but  he  did  not  stir.  "I  won't  say  any  more 
about  it,  if  you  'd  rather  not.  What  makes  you 
so  discouraged?" 

"  I  dread  signing  my  name  to  them  pieces  of 
paper,"  "he  said  slowly.  "All  the  time  I  was  a 
boy  we  had  a  mortgage  hanging  over  us." 

"Then  don't  sign  one.  I  don't  want  you  to, 
if  you  feel  that  way." 

69 


O   PIONEERS! 

Oscar  shook  his  head.  "No,  I  can  see  there's 
a  chance  that  way.  I  Ve  thought  a  good  while 
there  might  be.  We're  in  so  deep  now,  we 
might  as  well  go  deeper.  But  it's  hard  work 
pulling  out  of  debt.  Like  pulling  a  threshing- 
machine  out  of  the  mud;  breaks  your  back.  Me 
and  Lou's  worked  hard,  and  I  can't  see  it's  got 
us  ahead  much." 

"Nobody  knows  about  that  as  well  as  I  do, 
Oscar.  That's  why  I  want  to  try  an  easier  way. 
I  don't  want  you  to  have  to  grub  for  every 
dollar." 

"Yes,  I  know  what  you  mean.  Maybe  it'll 
come  out  right.  But  signing  papers  is  signing 
papers.  There  ain't  no  maybe  about  that." 
He  took  his  pail  and  trudged  up  the  path  to  the 
house. 

Alexandra  drew  her  shawl  closer  about  her 
and  stood  leaning  against  the  frame  of  the  mill, 
looking  at  the  stars  which  glittered  so  keenly 
through  the  frosty  autumn  air.  She  always 
loved  to  watch  them,  to  think  of  their  vastness 
and  distance,  andNo^th^uL£>jdered  march.  vlt^ 
fortified  her  to  reflectjapon  thej^reat  opejcatiens 
of  "nature,  and  when^ite  thought  of  the  law  that 

70 


THE  WILD   LAND 

Jay  behind  them,  she  felt  a  sense  of  personal 
security^  That  night  she  had  a  new  conscious 
ness  of  the  country,  felt  almost  a  new  relation 
to  it.  Even  her  talk  with  the  boys  had  not 
taken  away  the  feeling  that  had  overwhelmed 
her  when  she  drove  back  to  the  Divide  that 
afternoon.  She  had  never  known  before  how 
much  the  country  meant  to  her.  The  chirping 
of  the  insects  down  in  the  long  grass  had  been 
like  the  sweetest  music.  She  had  felt  as  if 
her  heart  were  hiding  down  there,  somewhere, 
with  the  quail  and  the  plover  and  all  the  lit 
tle  wild  things  that  crooned  or  buzzed  in  the 
sun.  Under  the  long  shaggy  ridges,  she  felt  the 
future  stirring. 


PART  II 

NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 


PART   II 

NEIGHBORING   FIELDS 

I 

IT  is  sixteen  years  since  John  Bergson  died. 
His  wife  now  lies  beside  him,  and  the  white 
shaft  that  marks  their  graves  gleams  across  the 
wheat-fields.  Could  he  rise  from  beneath  it, 
he  would  not  know  the  country  under  which  he 
has  been  asleep.  The  shaggy  coat  of  the  prairie, 
which  they  lifted  to  make  him  a  bed,  has  van-_ 
ished  forever.  From  the  Norwegian  graveyard 
one  looks  out  over  a  vast  checker-board,  marked 
off  in  squares  of  wheat  and  corn;  light  and. 
dark,  dark  and  light.  Telephone  wires  hum 
along  the  white  roads,  which  always  run  at 
right  angles.  From  the  graveyard  gate  one  can 
count  a  dozen  gayly  painted  farmhouses;  the 
gilded  weather-vanes  on  the  big  red  barns  wink 
at  each  other  across  the  green  and  brown  and 
yellow  fields.  The  light  steel  windmills  trem 
ble  throughout  their  frames  and  tug  at  their 

75 


O   PIONEERS! 

moorings,  as  they  vibrate  in  the  wind  that  often 
blows  from  one  week's  end  to  another  across 
that  high,  active,  resolute  stretch  of  country. 

The  Divide  is  now  thickly  populated.  The 
rich  soil  yields  heavy  harvests;  the  dry,  bracing 
climate  and  the  smoothness  of  the  land  make 
labor  easy  for  men  and  beasts.  There  are  few 
scenes  more  gratifying  than  a  spring  plowing 
in  that  country,  where  the  furrows  of  a  single 
field  often  lie  a  mile  in  length,  and  the  brown 
earth,  with  such  a  strong,  clean  smell,  and  such 
a  power  of  growth  and  fertility  in  it,  yields  itself 
eagerly  to  the  plow;  rolls  away  from  the  shear, 
not  even  dimming  the  brightness  of  the  metal, 
with  a  soft,  deep  sigh  of  happiness.  The  wheat- 
cutting  sometimes  goes  on  all  night  as  well  as 
all  day,  and  in  good  seasons  there  are  scarcely 
men  and  horses  enough  to  do  the  harvesting. 
The  grain  is  so  heavy  that  it  bends  toward  the 
blade  and  cuts  like  velvet. 

There  is  something  frank  and  joyous  and 
young  in  the  open  face  of  the  country.  It  gives 
itself  ungrudgingly  to  the  moods  of  the  season, 
holding  nothing  back.  Like  the  plains  of  Lom- 
bardy,  it  seems  to  rise  a  little  to  meet  the  sun. 

.      .   * 


NEIGHBORING   FIELDS 

The  air  and  the  earth  are  curiously  mated  and 
intermingled,  as  if  the  one  were  the  breath  of 
the  other.  You  feel  in  the  atmosphere  the  same  , 
tonic,  puissant  quality  that  is  in  the  tilth,  the  * 
same  strength  and  resoluteness. 

One  June  morning  a  young  man  stood  at  the 
gate  of  the  Norwegian  graveyard,  sharpening 
his  scythe  in  strokes  unconsciously  timed  to  the 
tune  he  was  whistling.  He  wore  a  flannel  cap 
and  duck  trousers,  and  the  sleeves  of  his  white 
flannel  shirt  were  rolled  back  to  the  elbow. 
When  he  was  satisfied  with  the  edge  of  his 
blade,  he  slipped  the  whetstone  into  his  hip 
pocket  and  began  to  swing  his  scythe,  still 
whistling,  but  softly,  out  of  respect  to  the  quiet 
folk  about  him.  Unconscious  respect,  probably, 
for  he  seemed  intent  upon  his  own  thoughts, 
and,  like  the  Gladiator's,  they  were  far  away. 
He  was  a  splendid  figure  of  a  boy,  tall  and 
straight  as  a  young  pine  tree,  with  a  hand 
some  head,  and  stormy  gray  eyes,  deeply  set 
under  a  serious  brow.  The  space  between  his 
two  front  teeth,  which  were  unusually  far 
apart,  gave  him  the  proficiency  in  whistling 
for  which  he  was  distinguished  at  college. 

77 


O   PIONEERS! 

(He  also  played  the  cornet  in  the  University 
band.) 

When  the  grass  required  his  close  attention, 
or  when  he  had  to  stoop  to  cut  about  a  head 
stone,  he  paused  in  his  lively  air,  —  the  "Jewel " 
song,  —  taking  it  up  where  he  had  left  it  when 
his  scythe  swung  free  again.  He  was  not  think 
ing  about  the  tired  pioneers  over  whom  his 

,  blade  glittered.  The  old  wild  country,  the 
struggle  in  which  his  sister  was  destined  to  suc 
ceed  while  so  many  men  broke  their  hearts  and 
died,  he  can  scarcely  remember.  That  is  all 
among  the  dim  things  of  childhood  and  has  been 
forgotten  in  the  brighter  pattern  life  weaves 
to-day,  in  the  bright  facts  of  being  captain  of 
the  track  team,  and  holding  the  interstate 
record  for  the  high  jump,  in  the  all-suffusing 
brightness  of  being  twenty-one.  Yet  some- 

,  times,  in  the  pauses  of  his  work,  the  young  man 
frowned  and  looked  at  the  ground  with  an 
intentness  which  suggested  that  even  twenty- 
one  might  have  its  problems. 

When  he  had  been  mowing  the  better  part  of 
an  hour,  he  heard  the  rattle  of  a  light  cart  on 
the  road  behind  him.  Supposing  that  it  was 

78 


NEIGHBORING   FIELDS 

his  sister  coming  back  from  one  of  her  farms, 
he  kept  on  with  his  work.  The  cart  stopped  at 
the  gate  and  a  merry  contralto  voice  called^ 
" Almost  through,  Emil?"  He  dropped  his 
scythe  and  went  toward  the  fence,  wiping  his 
face  and  neck  with  his  handkerchief.  In  the 
cart  sat  a  young  woman  who  wore  driving 
gauntlets  and  a  wide  shade  hat,  trimmed  with 
red  poppies.  Her  face,  too,  was  rather  like  a 
poppy,  round  and  brown,  with  rich  color  in  her 
cheeks  and  lips,  and  her  dancing  yellow-brown 
eyes  bubbled  with  gayety.  The  wind  was  flap 
ping  her  big  hat  and  teasing  a  curl  of  her 
chestnut-colored  hair.  She  shook  her  head  at 
the  tall  youth. 

"What  time  did  you  get  over  here?  That 's 
not  much  of  a  job  for  an  athlete.  Here  I've 
been  to  town  and  back.  Alexandra  lets  you 
sleep  late.  Oh,  I  know!  Lou's  wife  was  telling 
me  about  the  way  she  spoils  you.  I  was  going 
to  give  you  a  lift,  if  you  were  done."  She  gath 
ered  up  her  reins. 

"But  I  will  be,  in  a  minute.  Please  wait  for 
me,  Marie,"  Emil  coaxed.  "Alexandra  sent  me 
to  mow  our  lot,  but  I've  done  half  a  dozen 

79 


O   PIONEERS! 

others,  you  see.  Just  wait  till  I  finish  off  the 
Kourdnas'.  By  the  way,  they  were  Bohemians. 
Why  are  ri't  they  up  in  the  Catholic  grave 
yard?" 

"Free-thinkers,"  replied  the  young  woman 
laconically. 

"Lots  of  the  Bohemian  boys  at  the  Univer 
sity  are,"  said  Emil,  taking  up  his  scythe  again. 
"What  did  you  ever  burn  John  Huss  for,  any 
way?  It's  made  an  awful  row.  They  still  jaw 
about  it  in  history  classes." 

"We'd  do  it  right  over  again,  most  of  us," 
said  the  young  woman  hotly.  "Don't  they  ever 
teach  you  in  your  history  classes  that  you  'd  all 
be  heathen  Turks  if  it  had  n't  been  for  the 
Bohemians?" 

Emil  had  fallen  to  mowing.  "Oh,  there's  no 
denying  you're  a  spunky  little  bunch,  you 
Czechs,"  he  called  back  over  his  shoulder. 

Marie  Shabata  settled  herself  in  her  seat 
and  watched  the  rhythmical  movement  of  the 
young  man's  long  arms,  swinging  her  foot  as 
if  in  time  to  some  air  that  was  going  through 
her  mind.  The  minutes  passed.  Emil  mowed 
vigorously  and  Marie  sat  sunning  herself  and 

80 


NEIGHBORING 

watching  the  long  grass  fall.  She  s 
ease  that  belongs  to  persons  of  an  esi 
happy  nature,  who  can  find  a  comfortable  spot 
almost  anywhere;  who  are  supple,  and  quick  in 
adapting  themselves  to  circumstances.  After  a 
final  swish,  Emil  snapped  the  gate  and  sprang 
into  the  cart,  holding  his  scythe  well  out  over 
the  wheel.  "There,"  he  sighed.  "I  gave  old 
man  Lee  a  cut  or  so,  too.  Lou's  wife  need  n't 
talk.    I  never  see  Lou's  scythe  over  here." 

Marie  clucked  to  her  horse.  "Oh,  you  know 
Annie!"  She  looked  at  the  young  man's  bare 
arms.  "How  brown  you  Ve  got  since  you  came 
home.  I  wish  I  had  an  athlete  to  mow  my 
orchard.  I  get  wet  to  my  knees  when  I  go 
down  to  pick  cherries." 

"You  can  have  one,  any  time  you  want  him. 
Better  wait  until  after  it  rains."  Emil  squinted 
off  at  the  horizon  as  if  he  were  loo*  >  ~~  f~ "  ~~ — J  ~ 

"Will  you?  Oh,  there' 
turned  her  head  to  him  with  a 
smile.  He  felt  it  rather  than  j 
he  had  looked  away  with  the  purpc 
ing  it.  "I've  been  up  loo 
wedding  clothes,"  Marie 

81 


43   PIONEERS! 

lardly  wait  until  Sunday.  Ame- 
dee  w,.-  some  bridegroom.   Is  any 

body  but  you  going  to  stand  up  with  him  ?  Well, 
then  it  will  be  a  handsome  wedding  party." 
She  made  a  droll  face  at  Emil,  who  flushed. 
"  Frank,"  Marie  continued,  flicking  her  horse, 
"is  cranky  at  me  because  I  loaned  his  saddle 
co  Jan  Smirka,  and  I  'm  terribly  afraid  he  won't 
take  me  to  the  dance  in  the  evening.  Maybe 
the  supper  will  tempt  him.  All  Angelique's 
folks  are  baking  for  it,  and  all  Amedee's  twenty 
cousins.  There  will  be  barrels  of  beer.  If  once 
I  get  Frank  to  the  supper,  I'll  see  that  I  stay 
for  the  dance.  And  by  the  way,  Emil,  you 
must  n't  dance  with  me  but  once  or  twice.  You 
must  dance  with  all  the  French  girls.  It  hurts 
thek  feelings  if  you  don't.  They  think  you're 
proud  because  you've  been  away  to  school  or 
something." 

vv  do  you  know  they  think 

iance  with  them  much  at 

•y,  and  I  could  tell  how  they 

oy  looked  at  you  —  and  at 


82 


NEIGHBORING   FIELDS 

"All  right,"  said  Emil  shortly,  studying  the 
glittering  blade  of  his  scythe. 

They  drove  westward  toward  Norway  Creek^ 
and  toward  a  big  white  house  that  stood  on  a 
hill,  several  miles  across  the  fields.  There  were 
so  many  sheds  and  outbuildings  grouped  about 
it  that  the  place  looked  not  unlike  a  tiny  village. 
A  stranger,  approaching  it,  could  not  help  notic 
ing  the  beauty  and  fruitfulness  of  the  outlying 
fields.  There  was  something  individual  about 
the  great  farm,  a  most  unusual  trimness  and 
care  for  detail.  On  either  side  of  the  road,  for  a 
mile  before  you  reached  the  foot  of  the  hill, 
stood  tall'osage  orange  hedges,  their  glossy 
green  marking  off  the  yellow  fields.  South  of 
the  hill,  in  a  low,  sheltered  swale,  surrounded  by 
a  mulberry  hedge,  was  the  orchard,  its  fruit  trees 
knee-deep  in  timothy  grass.  Any  one  there 
abouts  would  have  told  you  that  this  was  one 
of  the  richest  farms  on  the  Divide,  and  that 
the  farmer  was  a  woman,  Alexandra  Bergson. 

If  you  go  up  the  hill  and  enter  Alexandra's 
big  house,  you  will  find  that  it  is  curiously 
unfinished  and  uneven  in  comfort.  One  room 
is  papered,  carpeted,  over-furnished;  the  next 

83 


O   PIONEERS! 

is  almost  bare.  The  pleasantest  rooms  in  the 
house  are  the  kitchen  —  where  Alexandra's 
three  young  Swedish  girls  chatter  and  cook  and 
pickle  and  preserve  all  summer  long  —  and  the 
sitting-room,  in  which  Alexandra  has  brought 
together  the  old  homely  furniture  that  the 
Bergsons  used  in  their  first  log  house,  the  fam 
ily  portraits,  and  the  few  things  her  mother 
brought  from  Sweden. 

When  you  go  out  of  the  house  into  the  flower 

garden,  there  you  feel  again  the  order  and  fine 

arrangement  manifest  all  over  the  great  farm; 

in  the  fencing  and  hedging,  in  the  windbreaks 

and  sheds,  in  the  symmetrical  pasture  ponds, 

planted  with  scrub  willows  to  give  shade  to  the 

cattle  in  fly-time.  There  is  even  a  white  row  of 

beehives  in  the  orchard,  under  the  walnut  trees. 

)  You  feel  that,  properly,  Alexandra's  house  is 

j  the  big  out-of-doors,  and  that  it  is  in  the  soil 

j  that  she  expresses  herself  best. 


II 

EMIL  reached  home  a  little  past  noon,  and 
when  he  went  into  the  kitchen  Alexandra  was 
already  seated  at  the  head  of  the  long  table, 
having  dinner  with  her  men,  as  she  always  did 
unless  there  were  visitors.  He  slipped  into  his 
empty  place  at  his  sister's  right.  The  three 
pretty  young  Swedish  girls  who  did  Alexandra's 
housework  were  cutting  pies,  refilling  coffee- 
cups,  placing  platters  of  bread  and  meat  and 
potatoes  upon  the  red  tablecloth,  and  continu 
ally  getting  in  each  other's  way  between  the 
table  and  the  stove.  To  be  sure  they  always 
wasted  a  good  deal  of  time  getting  in  each  other's 
way  and  giggling  at  each  other's  mistakes.  But, 
as  Alexandra  had  pointedly  told  her  sisters-in- 
law,  it  was  to  hear  them  giggle  that  she  kept 
three  young* things  in  her  kitchen;  the  work  she 
could  do  herself,  if  it  were  necessary.  These 
girls,  with  their  long  letters  from  home,  their 
finery,  and  their  love-affairs,  afforded  her  a 
great  deal  of  entertainment,  and  they  were  com 
pany  for  her  when  Emil  was  away  at  school. 

85 


O   PIONEERS! 

Of  the  youngest  girl,  Signa,  who  has  a  pretty 
figure,  mottled  pink  cheeks,  and  yellow  hair, 
Alexandra  is  very  fond,  though  she  keeps  a 
sharp  eye  upon  her.  Signa  is  apt  to  be  skittish 
at  mealtime,  when  the  men  are  about,  and  to 
spill  the  coffee  or  upset  the  cream.  It  is  sup 
posed  that  Nelse  Jensen,  one  of  the  six  men  aj: 
the  dinner-table,  is  courting  Signa,  though  he 
has  been  so  careful  not  to  commit  himself  that 
no  one  in  the  house,  least  of  all  Signa,  can  tell 
just  how  far  the  matter  has  progressed.  Nelse 
watches  her  glumly  as  she  waits  upon  the  table, 
and  in  the  evening  he  sits  on  a  bench  behind  the 
stove  with  his  dragharmonika,  playing  mournful 
airs  and  watching  her  as  she  goes  about  her 
work.  When  Alexandra  asked  Signa  whether 
she  thought  Nelse  was  in  earnest,  the  poor  child 
hid  her  hands  under  her  apron  and  murmured, 
"I  don't  know,  ma'm.  But  he  scolds  me  about 
everything,  like  as  if  he  wanted  to  have  me!" 

At  Alexandra's  left  sat  a  very  old  man,  bare 
foot  and  wearing  a  long  blue  blouse,  open  at  the 
neck.  His  shaggy  head  is  scarcely  whiter  than 
it  was  sixteen  years  ago,  but  his  little  blue  eyes 
have  become  pale  and  watery,  and  his  ruddy 

86 


NEIGHBORING   FIELDS 

face  is  withered,  like  an  apple  that  has  clung 
all  winter  to  the  tree.  When  Ivar  lost  his  land 
through  mismanagement  a  dozen  years  ago, 
Alexandra  took  him  in,  and  he  has  been  a  mem 
ber  of  her  household  ever  since.  He  is  too  old  to 
work  in  the  fields,  but  he  hitches  and  unhitches 
the  work-teams  and  looks  after  the  health 
of  the  stock.  Sometimes  of  a  winter  evening 
Alexandra  calls  him  into  the  sitting-room  to 
read  the  Bible  aloud  to  her,  for  he  still  reads 
very  well.  He  dislikes  human  habitations,  so 
Alexandra  has  fitted  him  up  a  room  in  the  barn, 
where  he  is  very  comfortable,  being  near  the 
horses  and,  as  he  says,  further  from  tempta 
tions.  No  one  has  ever  found  out  what  his. 
temptations  are.  In  cold  weather  he  sits  by  the 
kitchen  fire  and  makes  hammocks  or  mends 
harness  until  it  is  time  to  go  to  bed.  Then  he 
says  his  prayers  at  great  length  behind  the 
stove,  puts  on  his  buffalo-skin  coat  and  goes 
out  to  his  room  in  the  barn. 

Alexandra  herself  has  changed  very  little. 
Her  figure  is  fuller,  and  she  has  more  color.  She 
seems  sunnier  and  more  vigorous  than  she  did  as 
a  young  girl.  But  she  still  has  the  same  calmness 


O   PIONEERS! 

and  delijperationjpf  manner,  the  same  clear  eyes, 
and  she  still  wears  her  hair  in  two  braids  wound 
round  her  head.  It  is  so  curly  that  fiery  ends 
escape  from  the  braids  and  make  her  head  look 
like  one  of  the  big  double  sunflowers  that  fringe 
her  vegetable  garden.  Her  face  is  always  tanned 
in  summer,  for  her  sunbonnet  is  of tener  on  her 
arm  than  on  her  head.  But  where  her  collar 
falls  away  from  her  neck,  or  where  her  sleeves 
are  pushed  back  from  her  wrist,  the  skin  is  of 
such  smoothness  and  whiteness  as  none  but 
Swedish  women  ever  possess;  skin  with  the 
freshness  of  the  snow  itself. 

Alexandra  did  not  talk  much  at  the  table, 
but  she  encouraged  her  men  to  talk,  and  she 
always  listened  attentively,  even  when  they 
seemed  to  be  talking  foolishly. 

To-day  Barney  Flinn,  the  big  red-headed 
Irishman  who  had  been  with  Alexandra  for  five 
years  and  who  was  actually  her  foreman,  though 
he  had  no  such  title,  was  grumbling  about  the 
new  silo  she  had  put  up  that  spring.  It  hap 
pened  to  be  the  first  silo  on  the  Divide,  and 
Alexandra's  neighbors  and  her  men  were  skep 
tical  about  it.  "To  be  sure,  if  the  thing  don't 

88 


NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 

work,  we'll  have  plenty  of  feed  without  it, 
indeed,"  Barney  conceded. 

Nelse  Jensen,  Signa's  gloomy  suitor,  had  his 
word.  "Lou,  he  says  he  would  n't  have  no  silo 
on  his  place  if  you'd  give  it  to  him.  He  says 
the  feed  outen  it  gives  the  stock  the  bloat.  He 
heard  of  somebody  lost  four  head  of  horses, 
feedin'  'em  that  stuff." 

Alexandra  looked  down  the  table  from  one 
to  another.  "Well,  the  only  way  we  can  find 
out  is  to  try.  Lou  and  I  have  different  notions 
about  feeding  stock,  and  that's  a  good  thing. 
It's  bad  if  all  the  members  of  a  family  think 
alike.  They  never  get  anywhere.  Lou  can  learn 
by  my  mistakes  and  I  can  learn  by  his.  Is  n't 
that  fair,  Barney?" 

The  Irishman  laughed.  He  had  no  love  for 
Lou,  who  was  always  uppish  with  him  and  who 
said  that  Alexandra  paid  her  hands  too  much. 
"  I  've  no  thought  but  to  give  the  thing  an  honest 
try,  mum.  'T  would  be  only  right,  after  puttin' 
so  much  expense  into  it.  Maybe  Emil  will  come 
out  an'  have  a  look  at  it  wid  me."  He  pushed 
back  his  chair,  took  his  hat  from  the  nail,  and 
marched  out  with  Emil,  who,  with  his  univer- 


O   PIONEERS! 

sity  ideas,  was  supposed  to  have  instigated  the 
silo.  The  other  hands  followed  them,  all  except 
old  Ivar.  He  had  been  depressed  throughout 
the  meal  and  had  paid  no  heed  to  the  talk  of 
the  men,  even  when  they  mentioned  cornstalk 
bloat,  upon  which  he  was  sure  to  have  opinions. 

"Did  you  want  to  speak  to  me,  Ivar?"  Alex- 
andja  asked  as  she  rose  from  the  table.  "  Come 
into  the  sitting-room." 

The  old  man  followed  Alexandra,  but  when 
she  motioned  him  to  a  chair  he  shook  his 
head.  She  took  up  her  workbasket  and  waited 
for  him  to  speak  .  He  stood  looking  at  the  car 
pet,  his  bushy  head  bowed,  his  hands  clasped  in 
front  of  him.  Ivar's  bandy  legs  seemed  to  have 
grown  shorter  with  years,  and  they  were  com 
pletely  misfitted  to  his  broad,  thick  body  and 
heavy 'shoulders. 

"Well,  Ivar,  what  is  it?"  Alexandra  asked 
after  she  had  waited  longer  than  usual. 

Ivar  had  never  learned  to  speak  English  and 
his  Norwegian  was  quaint  and  grave,  like  the 
speech  of  the  more  old-fashioned  people.  He 
always  addressed  Alexandra  in  terms  of  the 
deepest  respect,  hoping  to  set  a  good  example 

90 


NEIGH-BORING   FIELDS 

to  the  kitchen  girls,  whom  he  thought  too  fam 
iliar  in  their  manners. 

"Mistress,"  he  began  faintly,  without  raising 
his  eyes,  "the  folk  have  been  looking  coldly  at 
me  of  late.  You  know  there  has  been  talk." 

"Talk  about  what,  Ivar?" 

"About  sending  me  away;  to  the  asylum." 

Alexandra  put  down  her  sewing-basket. 
"Nobody  has  come  to  me  with  such  talk,"  she 
said  decidedly.  "Why  need  you  listen?  You 
know  I  would  never  consent  to  such  a  thing." 

Ivar  lifted  his  shaggy  head  and  looked  at  her 
out  of  his  little  eyes.  "They  say  that  you  can 
not  prevent  it  if  the  folk  complain  of  me,  if  your 
brothers  complain  to  the  authorities.  They  say 
that  your  brothers  are  afraid  —  God  forbid !  — 
that  I  may  do  you  some  injury  when  my  spells 
are  on  me.  Mistress,  how  can  any  one  think 
that?  —  that  I  could  bite  the  hand  that  fed 
me ! "  The  tears  trickled  down  on  the  old  man's 
beard. 

Alexandra  frowned.  "Ivar,  I  wonder  at  you, 
that  you  should  come  bothering  me  with  such 
nonsense.  I  am  still  running  my  own  house, 
and  other  people  have  nothing  to  do  with 


O   PIONEERS! 

either  you  or  me.  So  long  as  I  am  suited  with 
you,  there  is  nothing  to  be  said." 

Ivar  pulled  a  red  handkerchief  out  of  the 
breast  of  his  blouse  and  wiped  his  eyes  and 
beard.  "But  I  should  not  wish  you  to  keep  me 
if,  as  they  say,  it  is  against  your  interests,  and 
if  it  is  hard  for  you  to  get  hands  because  I  am 
here." 

Alexandra  made  an  impatient  gesture,  but 
the  old  man  put  out  his  hand  and  went  on 
earnestly :  — 

"Listen,  mistress,  it  is  right  that  you  should 
take  these  things  into  account.  You  know  that 
my  spe\ls  come  from  God,  and  that  I  would  not 
harm  any  living  creature.   You  believe  that 
every  one  should  worship  God  in  the  way  1 
/    revealed  to  him.  But  that  is  not  the  way  of  • 
\    this  country.  The  way  here  is  for  all  to  do  alike,/ 
\I  am  despised  because  I  do  not  wear  shoes', 
because  I  do  not  cut  my  hair,  and  because  I 
have  visions.  At  home,   in  the  old  country,* 
there  were  many  like  me,  who  had  been  touched 
by  God,  or  who  had  seen  things  in  the  grave 
yard  at  night  and  were  different  afterward.  We 
thought  nothing  of  it,  and  let  them  alone.  But 

92 


NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 

here,  if  a  man  is  different  in  his  feet  or  in  his 
head,  they  put  him  in  the  asylum.  Look  at 
Peter  Kralik;  when  he  was  a  boy,  drinking  out 
of  a  creek,  he  swallowed  a  snake,  and  always 
after  that  he  could  eat  only  such  food  as  the 
creature  liked,  for  when  he  ate  anything  else,  it 
became  enraged  and  gnawed  him.  When  he 
felt  it  whipping  about  in  him,  he  drank  alcohol 
to  stupefy  it  and  get  some  ease  for  himself.  He 
could  work  as  good  as  any  man,  and  his  head 
was  clear,  but  they  locked  him  up  for  being 
different  in  his  stomach.  That  is  the  way;  they 
have  built  the  asylum  for  people  who  are  dif 
ferent,  and  they  will  not  even  let  us  live  in  the 
holes  with  the  badgers.  Only  your  great  pros 
perity  has  protected  me  so  far.  If  you  had  had 
ill-fortune,  they  would  have  taken  me  to  Has 
tings  long  ago." 

As  Ivar  talked,  his  gloom  lifted.  Alexandra 
had  found  that  she  could  often  break  his  fasts 
and  long  penances  by  talking  to  him  and  let 
ting  him  pour  out  the  thoughts  that  troubled 
him.  Sympathy  always  cleared  his  mind,  and 
ridicule  was  poison  to  him. 

"There  is  a  great  deal  in  what  you  say,  Ivar. 
93 


r 

O   PIONEERS! 

Like  as  not  they  will  be  wanting  to  take  me  to 
Hastings  because  I  have  built  a  silo;  and  then 
I  may  take  you  with  me.  But  at  present  I  need 
you  here.  Only  don't  come  to  me  again  telling 
me  what  people  say.  Let  people  go  on  talking 
as  they  like,  and  we  will  go  on  living  as  we 
think  best.  You  have  been  with  me  now  for 
twelve  years,  and  I  have  gone  to  you  for  advice 
oftener  than  I  have  ever  gone  to  any  one.  That 
ought  to  satisfy  you." 

Ivar  bowed  humbly.  "Yes,  mistress,  I  shall 
not  trouble  you  with  their  talk  again.  And  as 
for  my  feet,  I  have  observed  your  wishes  all 
these  years,  though  you  have  never  questioned 
me;  washing  them  every  night,  even  in  winter." 

Alexandra  laughed.  "Oh,  never  mind  about 
your  feet,  Ivar.  We  can  remember  when  half 
our  neighbors  went  barefoot  in  summer.  I  ex 
pect  old  Mrs.  Lee  would  love  to  slip  her  shoes 
off  now  sometimes,  if  she  dared.  I  'm  glad  I  'm 
not  Lou's  mother-in-law." 

Ivar  looked  about  mysteriously  and  lowered 
his  voice  almost  to  a  whisper.  "You  know 
what  they  have  over  at  Lou's  house?  A  great 
white  tub,  like  the  stone  water-troughs  in  the 

94 


NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 

old  country,  to  wash  themselves  in.  When  you 
sent  me  over  with  the  strawberries,  they  were 
all  in  town  but  the  old  woman  Lee  and  the  baby. 
She  took  me  in  and  showed  me  the  thing,  and 
she  told  me  it  was  impossible  to  wash  yourself 
clean  in  it,  because,  in  so  much  water,  you  could  ' 
not  make  a  strong  suds.  So  when  they  fill  it  up 
and  send  her  in  there,  she  pretends,  and  makes  a 
splashing  noise.  Then,  when  they  are  all  asleep, 
she  washes  herself  in  a  little  wooden  tub  she 
keeps  under  her  bed." 

Alexandra  shook  with  laughter.  "Poor  old 
Mrs.  Lee!  They  won't  let  her  wear  nightcaps,^, 
either.  Never  mind;  when  she  comes  to  visit 
me,  she  can  do  all  the  old  things  in  the  old 
way,  and  have  as  much  beer  as  she  wants. 
We'll  start  an  asylum  for  old-time  people, 
Ivar." 

Ivar  folded  his  big  handkerchief  carefully 
and  thrust  it  back  into  his  blouse.  "This  is 
always  the  .way,  mistress.  I  come  to  you  sor 
rowing,  and  you  send  me  away  with  a  light 
heart.  And  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  tell  the 
Irishman  that  he  is  not  to  work  the  brown 
gelding  rntil  the  sore  on  its  shoulder  is  healed?" 

95 


O   PIONEERS! 

"That  I  will.  .Now  go  and  put  Emil's  mare 
to  the  cart.  I  am  going  to  drive  up  to  the  north 
quarter  to  meet  the  man  from  town  who  is  to 
buy  my  alfalfa  hay." 


Ill 

ALEXANDRA  was  to  hear  more  of  Ivar's  case, 
however.  On  Sunday  her  married  brothers 
came  to  dinner.  She  had  asked  them  for  that 
day  because  Emil,  who  hated  family  parties, 
would  be  absent,  dancing  at  Amedee  Chevalier's 
wedding,  up  in  the  French  country.  The  table 
was  set  for  company  in  the  dining-room,  where 
highly  varnished  wood  and  colored  glass  and 
useless  pieces  of  china  were  conspicuous  enough 
to  satisfy  the  standards  of  the  new  prosperity. 
Alexandra  had  put  herself  into  the  hands  of  the 
Hanover  furniture  dealer,  and  he  had  conscien 
tiously  done  his  best  to  make  her  dining-room 
look  like  his  display  window.  She  said  frankly 
that  she  knew  nothing  about  such  tilings,  and 
she  was  willing  to  be  governed  by  the  general 
conviction  that  the  more  useless  and  utterly 
unusable  objects  were,  the  greater  their  virtue 
as  ornament.  That  seemed  reasonable  enough. 
Since  she  liked  plain  things  herself,  it  was  all 
the  more  necessary  to  have  jars  and  punch 
bowls  and  candlesticks  in  the  company  rooms 

97 


O   PIONEERS! 

for  people  who  did  appreciate  them.  Her 
guests  liked  to  see  about  them  these  reassuring 
emblems  of  prosperity. 

The  family  party  was  complete  except  for 
Emil,  and  Oscar's  wife  who,  in  the  country 
phrase,  "was  not  going  anywhere  just  now." 
Oscar  sat  at  the  foot  of  the  table  and  his  four 
tow-headed  little  boys,  aged  from  twelve  to  five, 
were  ranged  at  one  side.  Neither  Oscar  nor 
Lou  has  changed  much;  they  have  simply,  as 
Alexandra  said  of  them  long  ago,  grown  to  be 
more  and  more  like  themselves.  Lou  now  looks 
the  older  of  the  two;  his  face  is  thin  and  shrewd 
and  wrinkled  about  the  eyes,  while  Oscar's  is 
thick  and  dull.  For  all  his  dullness,  however, 
Oscar  makes  more  money  than  his  brother, 
which  adds  to  Lou's  sharpness  and  uneasiness 
and  tempts  him  to  make  a  show.  The  trouble 
jwith  Lou  is  that  he  is  tricky,  and  his  neighbors 
/  have  found  out  that,  as  Ivar  says,  he  has  not 
\  a  fox's  face  for  nothing.  Politics  being  the  nat 
ural  field  for  such  talents,  he  neglects  his  farm 
to  attend  conventions  and  to  run  for  county 
offices. 

Lou's  wife,  formerly  Annie  Lee,  has  grown  to 
98 


NEIGHBORING   FIELDS 

look  curiously  like  her  husband.  Her  face  has 
become  longer,  sharper,  more  aggressive.  She 
wears  her  yellow  hair  in  a  high  pompadour, 
and  is  bedecked  with  rings  and  chains  and 
"beauty  pins."  Her  tight,  high-heeled  shoes 
give  her  an  awkward  walk,  and  she  is  always 
more  or  less  preoccupied  with  her  clothes.  As 
she  sat  at  the  table,  she  kept  telling  her  young 
est  daughter  to. "be  careful  now,  and  not  drop 
anything  on  mother." 

The  conversation  at  the  table  was  all  in  Eng 
lish.  Oscar's  wife,  from  the  malaria  district  of 
Missouri,  was  ashamed  of  marrying  a  foreigner, 
and  his  boys  do  not  understand  a  ^ord  of 
Swedish.  Annie  and  Lou  sometimes  speak 
Swedish  at  home,  but  Annie  is  almost  as  much 
afraid  of  being  "caught"  at  it  as  ever  her 
mother  was  of  being  caught  barefoot.  Oscar 
still  has  a  thick  accent,  but  Lou  speaks  like 
anybody  from  Iowa. 

"When  I  was  in  Hastings  to  attend  the  con 
vention,"  he  was  saying,  "I  saw  the  superin 
tendent  of  the  asylum,  and  I  was  telling  him 
about  Ivar's  symptoms.  He  ^ays  Ivar's  case 
is  one  of  the  most  dangerous  kind,  and  it's 

99 


O   PIONEERS! 

a  wonder  he  has  n't  done  something  violent 
before  this." 

Alexandra  laughed  good-humoredly.  "Oh, 
nonsense,  Lou !  The  doctors  would  have  us  all 
crazy  if  they  could.  Ivar's  queer,  certainly,  but 
he  has  more  sense  than  half  the  hands  I  hire." 

Lou  flew  at  his  fried  chicken.  "Oh,  I  guess 
the  doctor  knows  his  business,  Alexandra.  He 
was  very  much  surprised  when  I  told  him  how 
you 'd  put  up  with  Ivar.  He  says  he's  likely  to 
set  fire  to  the  barn  any  night,  or  to  take  after 
you  and  the  girls  with  an  axe." 

Little  Signa,  who  was  waiting  on  the  table, 
giggled  and  fled  to  the  kitchen.  Alexandra's 
eyes  twinkled.  "That  was  too  much  for  Signa, 
Lou.  We  all  know  that  Ivar 's  perfectly  harm 
less.  The  girls  would  as  soon  expect  me  to 
chase  them  with  an  axe." 

Lou  flushed  and  signaled  to  his  wife.  "All 
the  same,  the  neighbors  will  be  having  a  say 
about  it  before  long.  He  may  burn  anybody's 
barn.  It's  only  necessary  for  one  property- 
owner  in  the  township  to  make  complaint,  and 
he'll  be  taken  up  by  force.  You'd  better  send 
him  yourself  and  not  have  any  hard  feelings." 

100 


NEIGHBORING   FiELBS 

Alexandra  helped  one  of  her  little  nephews  to 
gravy.  "Well,  Lou,  if  any  of  the  neighbors  try 
that,  I  '11  have  myself  appointed  Ivar's  guardian 
and  take  the  case  to  court,  that's  all.  I  am 
perfectly  satisfied  with  him." 

"Pass  the  preserves,  Lou,"  said  Annie  in  a 
warning  tone.  She  had  reasons  for  not  wishing 
her  husband  to  cross  Alexandra  too  openly. 
"But  don't  you  sort  of  hate  to  have  people  see 
him  around  here,  Alexandra?"  she  went  on 
with  persuasive  smoothness.  "He  is  a  disgrace 
ful  object,  and  you're  fixed  up  so  nice  now.  It 
sort  of  makes  people  distant  with  you,  when 
they  never  know  when  they  '11  hear  him  scratch 
ing  about.  My  girls  are  afraid  as  death  of  him, 
are  n't  you,  Milly,  dear?" 

Milly  was  fifteen,  fat  and  jolly  and  pompa- 
doured,  with  a  creamy  complexion,  square 
white  teeth,  ,and  a  short  upper  lip.  She  looked 
like  her  grandmother  Bergson,  and  had  her 
comfortable  and  comfort-loving  nature.  She 
grinned  at  her  aunt,  with  whom  she  was  a  great 
deal  more  at  ease  than  she  was  with  her  mother. 
Alexandra  winked  a  reply. 

"Milly  need  n't  be  afraid  of  Ivar.   She's  an 
101 


O   PIONEERS! 

especial  favorite  of  his.  In  my  opinion  Ivar  has 
just  as  much  right  to  his  own  way  of  dressing 
and  thinking  as  we  have.  But  I  '11  see  that  he 
does  n't  bother  other  people.  I  '11  keep  him  at 
home,  so  don't  trouble  any  more  about  him, 
Lou.  I  've  been  wanting  to  ask  you  about  your 
new  bathtub.  How  does  it  work?" 

Annie  came  to  the  fore  to  give  Lou  time  to 
recover  himself.  "Oh,  it  works  something 
grand!  I  can't  keep  him  out  of  it.  He  washes 
himself  all  over  three  times  a  week  now,  and 
uses  all  the  hot  water.  I  think  it's  weakening 
to  stay  in  as  long  as  he  does.  You  ought  to 
have  one,  Alexandra." 

"  I  'm  thinking  of  it.  I  might  have  one  put  in 
the  barn  for  Ivar,  if  it  will  ease  people's  minds. 
But  before  I  get  a  bathtub,  I  'm  going  to  get  a 
piano  for  Milly." 

Oscar,  at  the  end  of  the  table,  looked  up  from 
his  plate.  "What  does  Milly  want  of  a  pianny? 
What's  the  matter  with  her  organ?  She  can 
make  some  use  of  that,  and  play  in  church." 

Annie  looked  flustered.  She  had  begged 
Alexandra  not  to  say  anything  about  this  plan 
before  Oscar,  who  was  apt  to  be  jealous  of  what 

102 


NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 

his  sister  did  for  Lou's  children.  Alexandra  did 
not  get  on  with  Oscar's  wife  at  all.  "Milly  can 
play  in  church  just  the  same,  and  she'll  still 
play  on  the  organ.  But  practising  on  it  so 
much  spoils  her  touch.  Her  teacher  says  so," 
Annie  brought  out  with  spirit. 

Oscar  rolled  his  eyes.  "Well,  Milly  must  have 
got  on  pretty  good  if  she's  got  past  the  organ. 
I  know  plenty  of  grown  folks  that  ain't,"  he 
said  bluntly. 

Annie  threw  up  her  chin.  "She  has  got  on 
good,  and  she's  going  to  play  for  her  commence 
ment  when  she  graduates  in  town  next  year." 

"Yes,"  said  Alexandra  firmly,  "I  think  Milly 
deserves  a  piano.  All  the  girls  around  here  have 
been  taking  lessons  for  years,  but  Milly  is  the 
only  one  of  them  who  can  ever  play  anything 
when  you  ask  her.  I'll  tell  you  when  I  first 
thought  I  would  like  to  give  you  a  piano,  Milly, 
and  that  was  when  you  learned  that  book  of 
old  Swedish  songs  that  your  grandfather  used 
to  sing.  He  had  a  sweet  tenor  voice,  and  when 
he  was  a  young  man  he  loved  to  sing.  I  can 
remember  hearing  him  singing  with  the  sailors 
down  in  the  shipyard,  when  I  was  no  bigger 

103 


O   PIONEERS! 

than  Stella  here,"  pointing  to  Annie's  younger 
daughter. 

Milly  and  Stella  both  looked  through  the 
door  into  the  sitting-room,  where  a  crayon  por 
trait  of  John  Bergson  hung  on  the  wall.  Alex 
andra  had  had  it  made  from  a  little  photograph, 
taken  for  his  friends  just  before  he  left  Sweden; 
a  slender  man  of  thirty-five,  with  soft  hair  curl 
ing  about  his  high  forehead,  a  drooping  mus 
tache,  and  wondering,  sad  eyes  that  looked 
forward  into  the  distance,  as  if  they  already 
beheld  the  New  World. 

After  dinner  Lou  and  Oscar  went  to  the 
orchard  to  pick  cherries  —  they  had  neither  of 
them  had  the  patience  to  grow  an  orchard  of  their 
own  —  and  Annie  went  down  to  gossip  with 
Alexandra's  kitchen  girls  while  they  washed  the 
dishes.  She  could  always  find  out  more  about 
Alexandra's  domestic  economy  from  the  prat 
tling  maids  than  from  Alexandra  herself,  and 
what  she  discovered  she  used  to  her  own  advan 
tage  with  Lou.  On  the  Divide,  farmers'  daugh 
ters  no  longer  went  out  into  service,  so  Alex 
andra  got  her  girls  from  Sweden,  by  paying 
their  fare  over.  They  stayed  with  her  until 

104 


NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 

they  married,  and  were~  replaced  by  sisters  or 
cousins  from  the  old  country. 

Alexandra  took  her  three  nieces  into  the 
flower  garden.  She  was  fond  of  the  little  girls, 
especially  of  Milly,  who  came  to  spend  a  week 
with  her  aunt  now  and  then,  and  read  aloud 
to  her  from  the  old  books  about  the  house,  or 
listened  to  stories  about  the  early  days  on  the 
Divide.  While  they  were  walking  among  the 
flower  beds,  a  buggy  drove  up  the  hill  and 
stopped  in  front  of  the  gate.  A  man  got  out  and 
stood  talking  to  the  driver.  The  little  girls 
were  delighted  at  the  advent  of  a  stranger,  some 
one  from  very  far  away,  they  knew  by  his 
clothes,  his  gloves,  and  the  sharp,  pointed  cut 
of  his  dark  beard.  The  girls  fell  behind  their 
aunt  and  peeped  out  at  him  from  among  the 
castor  beans.  The  stranger  came  up  to  the  gate 
and  stood  holding  his  hat  in  his  hand,  smiling, 
while  Alexandra  advanced  slowly  to  meet  him. 
As  she  approached  he  spoke  in  a  low,  pleasant 
voice. 

"Don't  you  know  me,  Alexandra?  I  would 
have  known  you,  anywhere." 

Alexandra  shaded  her  eyes  with  her  hand. 
105 


O   PIONEERS! 

Suddenly  she  took  a  quick  step  forward.  "Can 
it  be!"  she  exclaimed  with  feeling;  "can  it  be 
that  it  is  Carl  Linstrum?  Why,  Carl,  it  is!" 
She  threw  out  both  her  hands  and  caught  his 
across  the  gate.  "Sadie,  Milly,  run  tell  your 
father  and  Uncle  Oscar  that  our  old  friend  Carl 
Linstrum  is  here.  Be  quick!  Why,  Carl,  how 
didvit  happen?  I  can't  believe  this !"  Alexan 
dra  shook  the  tears  from  her  eyes  and  laughed. 

The  stranger  nodded  to  his  driver,  dropped 
his  suitcase  inside  the  fence,  and  opened  the 
gate.  "Then  you  are  glad  to  see  me,  and  you 
can  put  me  up  overnight?  I  couldn't  go 
through  this  country  without  stopping  off  to 
have  a  look  at  you.  How  little  you  have 
'changed!  Do  you  know,  I  was  sure  it  would  be 
like  that.  You  simply  could  n't  be  different. 
How  fine  you  are!"  He  stepped  back  and 
looked  at  her  admiringly. 

Alexandra  blushed  and  laughed  again.  "But 
you  yourself,  Carl  —  with  that  beard  —  how 
could  I  have  known  you?  You  went  away  a 
little  boy."  She  reached  for  his  suitcase  and 
when  he  intercepted  her  she  threw  up  her 
hands.  "You  see,  I  give  myself  away.  I  have 

106 


NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 

only  women  come  to  visit  me,  and  I  do  not 
know  how  to  behave.  Where  is  your  trunk?" 

" It 's  in  Hanover.  I  can  stay  only  a  few  days. 
I  am  on  my  way  to  the  coast." 

They  started  up  the  path.  "A  few  days? 
After  all  these  years!"  Alexandra  shook  her 
finger  at  him.  "  See  this,  you  have  walked  into 
a  trap.  You  do  not  get  away  so  easy."  She  put 
her  hand  affectionately  on  his  shoulder.  "You 
owe  me  a  visit  for  the  sake  of  old  times.  Why 
must  you  go  to  the  coast  at  all?" 

"Oh,  I  must!  I  am  a  fortune  hunter.  From 
Seattle  I  go  on  to  Alaska." 

"Alaska?"  She  looked  at  him  in  astonish 
ment.  "Are  you  going  to  paint  the  Indians?" 

"Paint? "  the  young  man  frowned.  "Oh !  I  'm 
not  a  painter,  Alexandra.  I'm  an  engraver.  I 
have  nothing  to  do  with  T  Dinting." 

"But  on  my  parlor  wall  I  have  the  paint 
ings—" 

He  interrupted  nervously.  "Oh,  water-color 
sketches  —  done  for  amusement.  I  sent  them  to 
remind  you  of  me,  not  because  they  were  good. 
What  a  wonderful  place  you  have  made  of  this, 
Alexandra."  He  turned  and  looked  back  at  the 

107 


O   PIONEERS! 

wide,  map-like  prospect  of  field  and  hedge  and 
pasture.  "I  would  never  have  believed  it  could 
be  done.  I  'm  disappointed  in  my  own  eye,  in 
my  imagination." 

At  this  moment  Lou  and  Oscar  came  up  the 
hill  from  the  orchard.  They  did  not  quicken 
their  pace  when  they  saw  Carl;  indeed,  they 
did  not  openly  look  in  his  direction.  They 
advanced  distrustfully,  and  as  if  they  wished 
the  distance  were  longer. 

Alexandra  beckoned  to  them.  "They  think 
I  am  trying  to  fool  them.  Come,  boys,  it's 
Carl  Linstrum,  our  old  Carl!" 

Lou  gave  the  visitor  a  quick,  sidelong  glance 
and  thrust  out  his  hand.  "Glad  to  see  you." 
Oscar  followed  with  "How  d'  do."  Carl  could 
not  tell  whether  their  offishness  came  from 
unfriendliness  or  from  embarrassment.  He  and 
Alexandra  led  the  way  to  the  porch. 

"Carl,"  Alexandra  explained,  "is  on  his  way 
to  Seattle.  He  is  going  to  Alaska." 

Oscar  studied  the  visitor's  yellow  shoes. 
"Got  business  there?"  he  asked. 

Carl  laughed.  "Yes,  very  pressing  business. 
I  'm  going  there  to  get  rich.  Engraving 's  a  very 

108 


NEIGHBORING   FIELDS 

interesting  profession,  but  a  man  never  makes 
any  money  at  it.  So  I  'm  going  to  try  the  gold- 
fields." 

Alexandra  felt  that  this  was  a  tactful  speech, 
and  Lou  looked  up  with  some  interest.  "Ever 
done  anything  in  that  line  before?" 

"No,  but  I'm  going  to  join  a  friend  of  mine 
who  went  out  from  New  York  and  has  done 
well.  He  has  offered  to  break  me  in." 

"Tumble  cold  winters,  there,  I  hear,"  re 
marked  Oscar.  "I  thought  people  went  up 
there  in  the  spring." 

"They  do.  But  my  friend  is  going  to  spend 
the  winter  in  Seattle  and  I  am  to  stay  with  him 
there  and  learn  something  about  prospecting 
before  we  start  north  next  year." 

Lou  looked  skeptical.  "Let's  see,  how  long 
have  you  been  away  from  here?" 

"Sixteen  years.  You  ought  to  remember 
that,  Lou,  for  you  were  married  just  after  we 
went  away." 

"Going  to  stay  with  us  some  time?"  Oscar 
asked. 

"A  few  days,  if  Alexandra  can  keep  me." 

"I  expect  you'll  be  wanting  to  see  your  old 
109 


O   PIONEERS! 

place,"  Lou  observed  more  cordially.  "You 
won't  hardly  know  it.  But  there's  a  few  chunks 
of  your  old  sod  house  left.  Alexandra  would  n't 
never  let  Frank  Shabata  plough  over  it." 

Annie  Lee,  who,  ever  since  the  visitor  was 
announced,  had  been  touching  up  her  hair  and 
settling  her  lace  and  wishing  she  had  worn 
another  dress,  now  emerged  with  her  three 
daughters  and  introduced  them.  She  was 
greatly  impressed  by  Carl's  urban  appearance, 
and  in  her  excitement  talked  very  loud  and 
threw  her  head  about.  "And  you  ain't  married 
yet?  At  your  age,  now!  Think  of  that!  You'll 
have  to  wait  for  Milly.  Yes,  we've  got  a  boy, 
too.  The  youngest.  He's  at  home  with  his 
grandma.  You  must  come  over  to  see  mother 
and  hear  Milly  play.  She's  the  musician  of  the 
family.  She  does  pyrography,  too.  That's 
burnt  wood,  you  know.  You  would  n't  believe 
what  she  can  do  with  her  poker.  Yes,  she  goes 
to  school  in  town,  and  she  is  the  youngest  in 
her  class  by  two  years." 

Milly  looked  uncomfortable  and  Carl  took 
her  hand  again.  He  liked  her  creamy  skin  and 
happy,  innocent  eyes,  and  he  could  see  that  her 

no 


NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 

mother's  way  of  talking  distressed  her.  "I'm 
sure  she's  a  clever  little  girl,"  he  murmured, 
looking  at  her  thoughtfully.  "Let  me  see  — 
Ah,  it's  your  mother  that  she  looks  like,  Alex 
andra.  Mrs.  Bergson  must  have  looked  just 
like  this  when  she  was  a  little  girl.  Does  Milly 
run  about  over  the  country  as  you  and  Alex 
andra  used  to,  Annie?" 

Milly's  mother  protested.  "Oh,  my,  no! 
Things  has  changed  since  we  was  girls.  Milly 
has  it  very  different.  We  are  going  to  rent  the 
place  and  move  into  town  as  soon  as  the  girls 
are  old  enough  to  go  out  into  company.  A 
good  many  are  doing  that  here  now.  Lou  is 
going  into  business." 

Lou  grinned.  "That's  what  she  says.  You 
better  go  get  your  things  on.  Ivar's  hitching 
up,"  he  added,  turninr  to  Annie. 

Young  farmers  seldom  address  their  wives  by 
name.  It  is  always  "you,"  or  "she." 

Having  got  his  wife  out  of  the  way,  Lou  sat 
down  on  the  step  and  began  to  whittle.  "Well, 
what  do  folks  in  New  York  think  of  William 
Jennings  Bryan?"  Lou  began  to  bluster,  as  he 
always  did  when  he  talked  politics.  "We  gave 

in 


O   PIONEERS! 

Wall  Street  a  scare  in  ninety-six,  all  right, 
and  we  're  fixing  another  to  hand  them.  Silver 
wasn't  the  only  issue,"  he  nodded  mysteriously. 
"There's  a  good  many  things  got  to  be  changed. 
The  West  is  going  to  make  itself  heard." 

Carl  laughed.  "But,  surely,  it  did  do  that, 
if  nothing  else." 

Lou's  thin  face  reddened  up  to  the  roots  of  his 
bristly  hair.  "Oh,  we've  only  begun.  We're 
waking  up  to  a  sense  of  our  responsibilities, 
out  here,  and  we  ain't  afraid,  neither.  You 
fellows  back  there  must  be  a  tame  lot.  If  you 
had  any  nerve  you'd  get  together  and  march 
down  to  Wall  Street  and  blow  it  up.  Dyna 
mite  it,  I  mean,"  with  a  threatening  nod. 

He  was  so  much  in  earnest  that  Carl  scarcely 
knew  how  to  answer  him.  "That  would  be  a 
waste  of  powder.  The  same  business  would  go  on 
in  another  street.  The  street  does  n't  matter. 
But  what  have  you  fellows  out  here  got  to  kick 
about?  You  have  the  only  safe  place  there  is. 
Morgan  himself  could  n't  touch  you.  One  only 
has  to  drive  through  this  country  to  see  that 
you're  all  as  rich  as  barons." 

"We  have  a  good  deal  more  to  say  than  we 

112 


NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 

had  when  we  were  poor,"  said  Lou  threateningly. 
"We're  getting  on  to  a  whole  lot  of  things." 

As  Ivar  drove  a  double  carriage  up  to  the 
gate,  Annie  came  out  in  a  hat  that  looked  like 
the  model  of  a  battleship.  Carl  rose  and  took 
her  down  to  the  carriage,  while  Lou  lingered  for 
a  word  with  his  sister. 

"What  do  you  suppose  he's  come  for?"  he 
asked,  jerking  his  head  toward  the  gate. 

"Why,  to  pay  us  a  visit.  I've  been  begging 
him  to  for  years." 

Oscar  looked  at  Alexandra.  "He  did  n't  let 
you  know  he  was  coming?" 

"No.  Why  should  he?  I  told  him  to  come  at 
any  time." 

Lou  shrugged  his  shoulders.    "He  doesn't" 
seem  to  have  done  much  for  himself.  Wander 
ing  around  this  way!" 

Oscar  spoke  solemnly,  as  from  the  depths  of 
a  cavern.  "He  never  was  much  account." 

Alexandra  left  them  and  hurried  down  to  the 
gate  where  Annie  was  rattling  on  to  Carl  about 
her  new  dining-room  furniture.  "You  must 
bring  Mr.  Linstrum  over  real  soon,  only  be  sure 
to  telephone  me  first,"  she  called  back,  as  Carl 


O  PIONEERS! 

helped  her  into  the  carriage.  Old  Ivar,  his  white 
head  bare,  stood  holding  the  horses.  Lou  came 
'  down  the  path  and  climbed  into  the  front  seat, 
took  up  the  reins,  and  drove  off  without  saying 
anything  further  to  any  one.  Oscar  picked  up 
his  youngest  boy  and  trudged  off  down  the 
road,  the  other  three  trotting  after  him.  Carl, 
holding  the  gate  open  for  Alexandra,  began  to 
laugh.  "Up  and  coming  on  the  Divide,  eh, 
Alexandra?"  he  cried  gayly. 


IV 

CARL  had  changed,  Alexandra  felt,  much  less 
than  one  might  have  expected.  He  had  not 
become  a  trim,  self-satisfied  city  man.  There 
was  still  something  homely  and  wayward  and 
definitely  personal  about  him.  Even  his  clothes, 
his  Norfolk  coat  and  his  very  high  collars,  were 
a  little  unconventional.  He  seemed  to  shrink 
into  himself  as  he  used  to  do;  to  hold  him 
self  away  from  things,  as  if  he  were  afraid 
of  being  hurt.  In  short,  he  was  more  self-con 
scious  than  a  man  of  thirty-five  is  expected  to 
be.  He  looked  older  than  his  years  and  not 
very  strong.  His  black  hair,  which  still  hung 
in  a  triangle  over  his  pale  forehead,  was  thin  at 
the  crown,  and  there  were  fine,  relentless  lines 
about  his  eyes.  His  back,  with  its  high,  sharp 
shoulders,  looked  like  the  back  of  an  over 
worked  German  professor  off  on  his  holiday. 
His  face  was  intelligent,  sensitive,  unhappy. 

That  evening  after  supper,  Carl  and  Alex 
andra  were  sitting  by  the  clump  of  castor  beans 


O   PIONEERS! 

in  the  middle  of  the  flower  garden.  The  gravel 
paths  glittered  in  the  moonlight,  and  below 
them  the  fields  lay  white  and  still. 

"Do  you  know,  Alexandra,"  he  was  saying, 
I  Ve  been  thinking  how  strangely  things  work 
('  out.  I  Ve  been  away  engraving  other  men's 
\. pictures,  and  you've  stayed  at  home  and  made 
your  own."  He  pointed  with  his  cigar  toward 
the  sleeping  landscape.  "How  in  the  world 
have  you  done  it?  How  have  your  neighbors 
done  it?" 

"We  had  n't  any  of  us  much  to  do  with  it, 
Carl.  The  land  did  it.  It  had  its  little  joke.  It 
pretended  to  be  poor  because  nobody  knew  how 
to  work  it  right;  and  then,  all  at  once,  it  worked 
itself.  It  woke  up  out  of  its  sleep  and  stretched 
itself,  and  it  was  so  big,  so  rich,  that  we  sud- 
denly.found  we  were  rich,  just  from  sitting  still. 
As  for  me,  you  remember  when  I  began  to  buy 
land.  For  years  after  that  I  was  always  squeez 
ing  and  borrowing  until  I  was  ashamed  to  show 
my  face  in  the  banks.  And  then,  all  at  once, 
men  began  to  come  to  me  offering  to  lend  me 
money  —  and  I  didn't  need  it!  Then  I  went 
ahead  and  built  this  house.  I  really  built  it  for 

176 


NEIGHBORING   FIELDS 

Emil.  I  want  you  to  see  Emil,  Carl.  He  is  so 
different  from  the  rest  of  us!" 

"How  different?" 

/  "Oh,  you  '11  see !  I  'm  sure  it  was  to  have  sons 
like  Emil,  and  to  give  them  a  chance,  that  father 
left  the  old  country.  It's  curious,  too;  on  the 
outside  Emil  is  just  like  an  American  boy,  —  he 
graduated  from  the  State  University  in  June, 
you  know,  —  but  underneath  he  is  more  Swed 
ish  than  any  of  us.  Sometimes  he  is  so  like  father 
that  he  frightens  me;  he  is  so  violent  in  his  feel 
ings  like  that." 

"Is  he  going  to  farm  here  with  you?" 

"He  shall  do  whatever  he  wants  to,"  Alex 
andra  declared  warmly.  "He  is  going  to  have 
a  chance,  a  whole  chance;  that's  what  I've 
worked  for.  Sometimes  he  talks  about  studying 
law,  and  sometimes,  just  lately,  he's  been  talk 
ing  about  going  out  into  the  sand  hills  and  tak 
ing  up  more  land.  He  has  his  sad  times,  like 
father.  But  I  hope  he  won't  do  that.  We  have 
land  enough,  at  last!"  Alexandra  laughed. 

"How  about  Lou  and  Oscar?  They've  done 
well,  have  n't  they?" 

"Yes,  very  well;  but  they  are  different,  and 
117 


O  PIONEERS! 

now  that  they  have  farms  of  their  own  I  do  not 
see  so  much  of  them.  We  divided  the  land 
equally  when  Lou  married.  They  have  their 
own  way  of  doing  things,  and  they  do  not  alto 
gether  like  my  way,  I  am  afraid.  Perhaps  they 
think  me  too  independent.  But  I  have  had  to 
think  for  myself  a  good  many  years  and  am  not 
likely  to  change.  On  the  whole,  though,  we 
take  as  much  comfort  in  each  other  as  most 
brothers  and  sisters  do.  And  I  am  very  fond  of 
Lou's  oldest  daughter." 

"  I  think  I  liked  the  old  Lou  and  Oscar  better, 

and  they  probably  feel  the  same  about  me.   I 

even,  if  you  can  keep  a  secret,"  —  Carl  leaned 

forward  and  touched  her  arm,  smiling,  —  "I 

even  think  I  liked  the  old  country  better.  This 

/  is  all  very  splendid  in  its  way,  but  there  was 

.   something  about  this  country  when  it  was  a 

wild  old  beast  that  has  haunted  me  all  these- 

years.  Now,  when  I  come  back  to  all  this  milt 

and  honey,  I  feel  like  the  old  German  song, '  Wo 

s  bist  du,  wo  bist  du,  mein  geliebtest  Land  ? '  — 

Do  you  ever  feel  like  that,  I  wonder?" 

"Yes,  sometimes,  when  I  think  about  father 
and  mother  and  those  who  are  gone;  so  many 


NEIGHBORING   FIELDS 

of  our  old  neighbors."  Alexandra  paused  and 
looked  up  thoughtfully  at  the  stars.  "We  can 
remember  the  graveyard  when  it  was  wild 
prairie,  Carl,  and  now — " 

"And  now  the  old  story  has  begun  to  write 
itself  over  there,"  said  Carl  softly.   "Is n't  it   | 
queer:  there  are  only  two  or  three  human    ; 
stories,  and  they  go  on  repeating  themselves  as 
fiercely  as  if  they  had  never  happened  before; 
like  the  larks  in  this  country,  that  have  been 
singing  the  same  five  notes  over  for  thousands  \ 
of  years." 

"Oh,  yes!  The  young  people,  they  live  so 
hard.  And  yet  I  sometimes  envy  them.  There 
is  my  little  neighbor,  now;  the  people  who 
bought  your  old  place.  I  would  n't  have  sold  it 
to  any  one  else,  but  I  was  always  fond  of  that 
girl.  You  must  remember  her,  little  Marie 
Tovesky,  from  Omaha,  who  used  to  visit  here? 
When  she  was  eighteen  she  ran  away  from  the 
convent  school  and  got  married,  crazy  child! 
She  came  out  here  a  bride,  with  her  father  and 
husband.  He  had  nothing,  and  the  old  man 
was  willing  to  buy  them  a  place  and  set  them 
up.  Your  farm  took  her  fancy,  and  I  was  glad 

119 


O   PIONEERS! 

to  have  her  so  near  me.  I  Ve  never  been  sorry, 
either.  I  even  try  to  get  along  with  Frank  on 
her  account." 

"Is  Frank  her  husband?" 

"Yes.  He's  one  of  these  wild  fellows.  Most 
Bohemians  are  good-natured,  but  Frank  thinks 
we  don't  appreciate  him  here,  I  guess.  He's  jeal 
ous  about  everything,  his  farm  and  his  horses 
and  his  pretty  wife.  Everybody  likes  her,  just 
the  same  as  when  she  was  little.  Sometimes  I 
go  up  to  the  Catholic  church  with  Emil,  and 
it's  funny  to  see  Marie  standing  there  laughing 
and  shaking  hands  with  people,  looking  so  ex 
cited  and  gay,  with  Frank  sulking  behind  her 
as  if  he  could  eat  everybody  alive.  Frank's  not 
a  bad  neighbor,  but  to  get  on  with  him  you  've 
got  to  make  a  fuss  over  him  and  act  as  if  you 
thought  he  was  a  very  important  person  all  the 
time,  and  different  from  other  people.  I  find  it 
hard  to  keep  that  up  from  one  year's  end  to 
another." 

"  I  should  n't  think  you  'd  be  very  successful 
at  that  kind  of  thing,  Alexandra."  Carl  seemed 
to  find  the  idea  amusing. 

"Well,"  said  Alexandra  firmly,  "I  do  the 
1 20 


NEIGHBORING   FIELDS 

best  I  can,  on  Marie's  account.  She  has  it  hai 
enough,  anyway.  She's  too  young  and  pretty 
for  this  sort  of  life.  We  're  all  ever  so  much  older 
and  slower.  But  she's  the  kind  that  won't  be 
downed  easily.  She'll  work  all  day  and  go  to 
a  Bohemian  wedding  and  dance  all  night,  and 
drive  the  hay  wagon  for  a  cross  man  next  morn 
ing.  I  could  stay  by  a  job,  but  I  never  had  the  go 
in  me  that  she  has,  when  I  was  going  my  best. 
I  '11  have  to  take  you  over  to  see  her  to-morrow." 

Carl  dropped  the  end  of  his  cigar  softly 
among  the  castor  beans  and  sighed.  "Yes,  I 
suppose  I  must  see  the  old  place.'  I'm  cow 
ardly  about  things  that  remind  me  of  myself. 
It  took  courage  to  come  at  all,  Alexandra.  I 
would  n't  have,  if  I  had  n't  wanted  to  see  you 
very,  very  much." 

Alexandra  looked  at  him  with  her  calm, 
deliberate  eyes.  "Why  do  you  dread  things 
like  that,  Carl?"  she  asked  earnestly. (/'Why 
are  you  dissatisfied  with  yourself?" 

Her  visitor  winced.  "How  direct  you  are, 
Alexandra !  Just  like  you  used  to  be.  Do  I  give 
myself  away  so  quickly  ?  Well,  you  see,  for  one 
thingj  there's  nothing  to  look  forward  to  in  my 

121 


O   PIONEERS! 

profession.  Wood-engraving  is  the  only  thing 
I  care  about,  and  that  had  gone  out  before  I 
began.  Everything's  cheap  metal  work  now 
adays,  touching  up  miserable  photographs, 
forcing  up  poor  drawings,  and  spoiling  good 
ones.  I'm  absolutely  sick  of  it  all."  Carl 
frowned.  "Alexandra,  all  the  way  out  from 
New  York  I  Ve  been  planning  how  I  could  de 
ceive  you  and  make  you  think  me  a  very  envi 
able  fellow,  and  here  I  am  telling  you  the 
truth  the  first  night.  I  waste  a  lot  of  time  pre 
tending  to  people,  and  the  joke  of  it  is,  I  don't 
think  I  ever  deceive  any  one.  There  are  too 
many  of  my  kind;  people  know  us  on  sight." 

Carl  paused.  Alexandra  pushed  her  hair 
back  from  her  brow  with  a  puzzled,  thoughtful 
gesture.  "You  see,"  he  went  on  calmly,  "mea 
sured  by  your  standards  here,  I'm  a  failure. 
I  couldn't  buy  even  one  of  your  cornfields. 
I've  enjoyed  a  great  many  things,  but  I've 
got  nothing  to  show  for  it  all." 

"But  you  show  for  it  yourself,  Carl.  I'd 
rather  have  had  your  freedom  than  my  land." 

Carl  shook  his  head  mournfully.  "Freedom 
so  often  means  that  one  is  n't  needed  anywhere. 

122 


NEIGHBORING   FIELDS 

Here  you  are  an  individual,  you  have  a  back 
ground  of  your  own,  you  would  be  missed.  But 
off  there  in  the  cities  there  are  thousands  of 
rolling  stones  like  me.  We  are  all  alike;  we 
have  no  ties,  we  know  nobody,  we  own  nothing. 
When  one  of  us  dies,  they  scarcely  know  where 
to  bury  him.  Our  landlady  and  the  delicatessen 
man  are  our  mourners,  and  we  leave  nothing 
behind  us  but  a  frock-coat  and  a  fiddle,  or  an 
easel,  or  a  typewriter,  or  whatever  tool  w  got 
our  living  by.  All  we  have  ever  managed  to 
do  is  to  pay  our  rent,  the  exorbitant  rent  that 
one  has  to  pay  for  a  few  square  feet  of  space 
near  the  heart  of  things.  We  have  no  house, 
no  place,  no  people  of  our  own.  We  live  in 
the  streets,  in  the  parks,  in  the  theatres.  We  sit 
in  restaurants  and  concert  halls  and  look  about 
at  the  hundreds  of  our  own  kind  and  shudder." 
Alexandra  was  silent.  She  sat  looking  at  the 
silver  spot  the  moon  made  on  the  surface  of  the 
pond  down  in  the  pasture.  He  knew,  that  she 
understood  what  he  meant.  At  last  she  said 
slowly,  "And  yet  I  would  rather  have  Emil 
grow  up  like  that  than  like  his  two  brothers. 
We  pay  a  high  rent,  too,  though  we  pay  differ- 

123 


O   PIONEERS! 

ently.  We  grow  hard  and  heavy  here.  We 
don't  move  lightly  and  easily  as  you  do,  and 
our  minds  get  stiff.  If  the  world  were  no  wider 
than  my  cornfields,  if  there  were  not  something 
beside  this,  I  would  n't  feel  that  it  was  much 
worth  while  to  work.  No,  I  would  rather  have 
Emil  like  you  than  like  them.  I  felt  that  as  soon 
as  you  came." 

"I  wonder  why  you  feel  like  that?"  Carl 
mused. 

"I  don't  know.  Perhaps  I  am  like  Carrie 
Jensen,  the  sister  of  one  of  my  hired  men.  She 
had  never  been  out  of  the  cornfields,  and  a  few 
years  ago  she  got  despondent  and  said  life  was 
just  the  same  thing  over  and  over,  and  she 
did  n't  see  the  use  of  it.  After  she  had  tried 
to  kill  herself  once  or  twice,  her  folks  got  wor 
ried  and  sent  her  over  to  Iowa  to  visit  some 
relations.  Ever  since  she's  come  back  she's 
been  perfectly  cheerful,  and  she  says  she *s  con 
tented  to  live  and  work  in  a  world  that's  so  big 
and  interesting.  She  said  that  anything  as  big 
as  the  bridges  over  the  Platte  and  the  Missouri 
reconciled  her.  And  it's  what  goes  on  in  the 
world  that  reconciles  me." 


V 

ALEXANDRA  did  not  find  time  to  go  to  her 
neighbor's  the  next  day,  nor  the  next.  It  was  a 
busy  season  on  the  farm,  with  the  corn-plowing 
going  on,  and  even  Emil  was  in  the  field  with  a 
team  and  cultivator.  Carl  went  about  over  the 
farms  with  Alexandra  in  the  morning,  and  in 
the  afternoon  and  evening  they  found  a  great 
deal  to  talk  about.  Emil,  for  all  his  track  prac 
tice,  did  not  stand  up  under  farmwork  very 
well,  and  by  night  he  was  too  tired  to  talk  or 
even  to  practise  on  his  cornet. 

On  Wednesday  morning  Carl  got  up  before  it 
was  light,  and  stole  downstairs  and  out  of  the 
kitchen  door  just  as  old  Ivar  was  making  his 
morning  ablutions  at  the  pump.  Carl  nodded 
to  him  and  hurried  up  the  draw,  past  the  gar 
den,  and  into  the  pasture  where  the  milking 
cows  used  to  be  kept. 

The  dawn  in  the  east  looked  like  the  light 
from  some  great  fire  that  was  burning  under 
the  edge  of  the  world.  The  color  was  reflected 
in  the  globules  of  dew  that  sheathed  the  short 

125 


O   PIONEERS! 

gray  pasture  grass.  Carl  walked  rapidly  until 
he  came  to  the  crest  of  the  second  hill,  where 

P 

the  Bergson  pasture  joined  the  one  that  had 
belonged  to  his  father.  There  he  sat  down  and 
waited  for  the  sun  to  rise.  It  was  just  there 
that  he  and  Alexandra  used  to  do  their  milking 
together,  he  on  his  side  of  the  fence,  she  on  hers. 
He  could  remember  exactly  how  she  looked 
when  she  came  over  the  close-cropped  grass, 
her  skirts  pinned  up,  her  head  bare,  a  bright 
tin  pail  in  either  hand,  and  the  milky  light  of  the 
early  morning  all  about  her.  Even  as  a  boy  he 
used  to  feel,  when  he  saw  her  coming  with  her 
free  step,  her  upright  head  and  calm  shoulders, 
that  she  looked  as  if  she  had  walked  straight 
out  of  the  morning  itself.  Since  then,  when  he 
had  happened  to  see  the  sun  come  up  in  the 
country  or  on  the  water,  he  had  often  remem 
bered  the  young  Swedish  girl  and  her  milking 
pails. 

Carl  sat  musing  until  the  sun  leaped  above 
the  prairie,  and  in  the  grass  about  him  all  the 
small  creatures  of  day  began  to  tune  their  tiny 
instruments.  Birds  and  insects  without  num 
ber  began  to  chirp,  to  twitter,  to  snip  and 

126 


NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 

whistle,  to  make  all  manner  of  fresh  shrill 
noises.  The  pasture  was  flooded  with  light; 
every  clump  of  ironweed  and  snow-on-the- 
mountain  threw  a  long  shadow,  and  the  golden 
light  seemed  to  be  rippling  through  the  curly 
grass  like  the  tide  racing  in. 

He  crossed  the  fence  into  the  pasture  that 
was  now  the  Shabatas'  and  continued  his  walk 
toward  the  pond.  He  had  not  gone  far,  how 
ever,  when  he  discovered  that  he  was  not  the 
only  person  abroad.  In  the  draw  below,  his  gun 
in  his  hands,  was  Emil,  advancing  cautiously, 
with  a  young  woman  beside  him.  They  were 
moving  softly,  keeping  close  together,  and 
Carl  knew  that  they  expected  to  find  ducks  on 
the  pond.  At  the  moment  when  they  came  in 
sight  of  the  bright  spot  of  water,  he  heard  a 
whirr  of  wings  and  the  ducks  shot  up  into  the 
air.  There  was  a  sharp  crack  from  the  gun,  and 
five  of  the  birds  fell  to  the  ground.  Emil  and  his 
companion  laughed  delightedly,  and  Emil  ran 
to  pick  them  up.  When  he  came  back,  dangling 
the  ducks  by  their  feet,  Marie  held  her  apron 
and  he  dropped  them  into  it.  As  she  stood 
looking  down  at  them,  her  face  changed.  She 

127 


O   PIONEERS! 

took  up  one  of  the  birds,  a  rumpled  ball  of 
feathers  with  the  blood  dripping  slowly  from  its 
mouth,  and  looked  at  the  live  color  that  still 
burned  on  its  plumage. 

As  she  let  it  fall,  she  cried  in  distress,  "Oh, 
Emil,  why  did  you?" 

"I  like  that!"  the  boy  exclaimed  indignantly. 
"Why,  Marie,  you  asked  me  to  come  yourself." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  she  said  tearfully,  "but  I 
did  n't  think.  I  hate  to  see  them  when  they  are 
first  shot.  They  were  having  such  a  good  time, 
and  we've  spoiled  it  all  for  them." 
r     Emil  gave  a  rather  sore  laugh.  "I  should  say 
we  had !   I  'm  not  going  hunting  with  you  any 
more.   You're  as  bad  as  Ivar.   Here,  let  me 
take  them."  He  snatched  the  ducks  out  of  her 
^apron. 

"Don't  be  cross,  Emil.  Only  —  Ivar's  right 
about  wild  things.  They're  too  happy  to  kill. 
You  can  tell  just  how  they  felt  when  they  flew 
up.  They  were  scared,  but  they  did  n't  really 
think  anything  could  hurt  them.  No,  we  won't 
do  that  any  more." 

"All  right,"  Emil  assented.  "I'm  sorry  I 
made  you  feel  bad."  As  he  looked  down  into 

128 


NEIGHBORING   FIELDS 

her  tearful  "eyes,  there  was  a  curious,  sharp 
young  bitterness  in  his  own. 

Carl  watched  them  as  they  moved  slowly 
down  the  draw.  They  had  not  seen  him  at  all. 
He  had  not  overheard  much  of  their  dialogue, 
but  he  felt  the  import  of  it.  It  made  him,  some 
how,  unreasonably  mournful  to  find  two  young 
things  abroad  in  the  pasture  in  the  early  morn 
ing.  He  decided  that  he  needed  his  breakfast. 


VI 

AT  dinner  that  day  Alexandra  said  sh 
thought  they  must  really  manage  to  go  over  to 
the  Shabatas'  that  afternoon.  "  It's  not  often  I 
let  three  days  go  by  without  seeing  Marie.  She 
will  think  I  have  forsaken  her,  now  that  my  old 
friend  has  come  back." 

After  the  men  had  gone  back  to  work,  Alex 
andra  put  on  a  white  dress  and  her  sun-hat,  and 
she  and  Carl  set  forth  across  the  fields.  "You 
see  we  have  kept  up  the  old  path,  Carl.  It  has 
been  so  nice  for  me  to  feel  that  there  was 
friend  at  the  other  end  of  it  again." 

Carl  smiled  a  little  ruefully.  "All  the  same,  I 
hope  it  has  n't  been  quite  the  same." 

Alexandra  looked  at  him  with  surprise 
"Why,  no,  of  course  not.  Not  the  same.  She 
could  not  very  well  take  your  place,  if  that's 
what  you  mean.  I'm  friendly  with  all  my 
neighbors,  I  hope.  But  Marie  is  really  a  com 
panion,  some  one  I  can  talk  to  quite  frankly. 
You  would  n't  want  me  to  be  more  lonely  than 
I  have  been,  would  you?" 

130 


NEIGHBORING   FIELDS 

Carl  laughed  and  pushed  back  the  triangular 
lock  of  hair  with  the  edge  of  his  hat.  "Of  course 
I  don't.  I  ought  to  be  thankful  that  this  path 
has  n't  been  worn  by  —  well,  by  friends  with 
more  pressing  errands  than  your  little  Bohe 
mian  is  likely  to  have."  He  paused  to  give 
Alexandra  his  hand  as  she  stepped  over  the  stile. 
"Are  you  the  least  bit  disappointed  in  our  com 
ing  together  again?"  he  asked  abruptly.  "Is  it 
the  way  you  hoped  it  would  be?" 

Alexandra  smiled  at  this.  "Only  better. 
When  I've  thought  about  your  coming,  I've 
sometimes  been  a  little  afraid  of  it.  You  have 
lived  where  things  move  so  fast,  and  every 
thing  is  slow  here;  the  people  slowest  of  all.  Our 
lives  are  like  the  years,  all  made  up  of  weather 
and  crops  and  cows.  How  you  hated  cows!" 
She  shook  her  head  and  laughed  to  herself. 

"I  didn't  when  we  milked  together.  I 
walked  up  to  the  pasture  corners  this  morning. 
1 1  wonder  whether  I  shall  ever  be  able  to  tell  you 
all  that  I  was  thinking  about  up  there.*  It's  a 
strange  thing,  Alexandra;  I  find  it  easy  to  be 
i  frank  with  you  about  everything  under  the  sun 
except  —  yourself!" 


O   PIONEERS! 

"You  are  afraid  of  hurting  my  feelings,  per 
haps."  Alexandra  looked  at  him  thoughtfully 

"No,  I'm  afraid  of  giving  you  a  shock 
You've  seen  yourself  for  so  long  in  the  du 
minds  of  the  people  about  you,  that  if  I  were  tx 
tell  you  how  you  seem  to  me,  it  would  start! 
you.  But  you  must  see  that  you  astonish  me 
You  must  feel  when  people  admire  you." 

Alexandra  blushed  and  laughed  with  som 
confusion.  "I  felt  that  you  were  pleased  wit 
me,  if  you  mean  that." 

"And  you've  felt  when  other  people  wer 
pleased  with  you  ? "  he  insisted. 

"Well,  sometimes.  The  men  in  town,  at  th 
banks  and  the  county  offices,  seem  glad  to  see 
me.   I  think,  myself,   it  is  more  pleasant  to 
do  business  with  people  who  are  clean  and 
healthy-looking,"  she  admitted  blandly. 

Carl  gave  a  little  chuckle  as  he  opened  the 
Shabatas'  gate  for  her.  "Oh,  do  you?"  he 
asked  dryly. 

There  was  no  sign  of  life  about  the  Shabatas' 
house  except  a  big  yellow  cat,  sunning  itself  om 
the  kitchen  doorstep. 

Alexandra  took  the  path  that  led  to  the 
132 


NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 

orchard.  "She  often  sits  there  and  sews.  I 
did  n't  telephone  her  we  were  coming,  because  I 
did  n't  want  her  to  go  to  work  and  bake  cake 
and  freeze  ice-cream.  She'll  always  make  a 
party  if  you  give  her  the  least  excuse.  Do  you 
recognize  the  apple  trees,  Carl?" 

Linstrum  looked  about  him.  "  I  wish  I  had  a 
dollar  for  every  bucket  of  water  I  Ve  carried  for 
those  trees.  Poor  father,  he  was  an  easy  man, 
but  he  was  perfectly  merciless  when  it  came  to 
watering  the  orchard." 

"That's  one  thing  I  like  about  Germans; 
they  make  an  orchard  grow  if  they  can't  make 
anything  else.  I  'm  so  glad  these  trees  belong  to 
some  one  who  takes  comfort  in  them.  When  I 
rented  this  place,  the  tenants  never  kept  the 
orchard  up,  and  Emil  and  I  used  to  come  over 
and  take  care  of  it  ourselves.  It  needs  mowing 
now.  There  she  is,  down  in  the  corner.  Ma- 
ria-a-a!"  she  called. 

A  recumbent  figure  started  up  from  the  grass 
and  came  running  toward  them  through  the 
flickering  screen  of  light  and  shade. 

"Look  at  her!  Is  n't  she  like  a  little  brown 
rabbit?"  Alexandra  laughed. 


O  PIONEERS! 

Marie  ran  up  panting  and  threw  her  arms 
about  Alexandra.  "Oh,  I  had  begun  to  think 
you  were  not  coming  at  all,  maybe.  I  knew  you 
were  so  busy.  Yes,  Emil  told  me  about  Mr. 
Linstrum  being  here.  Won't  you  come  up  to 
the  house?" 

"Why  not  sit  down  there  in  your  corner? 
Carl  wants  to  see  the  orchard.  He  kept  all 
these  trees  alive  for  years,  watering  them  with 
his  own  back."* 

Marie  turned  to  Carl.  "Then  I'm  thankful 
to  you,  Mr.  Linstrum.  We  'd  never  have  bought 
the  place  if  it  had  n't  been  for  this  orchard,  and 
then  I  would  n't  have  had  Alexandra,  either." 
She  gave  Alexandra's  arm  a  little  squeeze  as 
she  walked  beside  her.  "How  nice  your  dress 
smells,  Alexandra;  you  put  rosemary  leaves  in 
your  chest,  like  I  told  you." 

She  led  them  to  the  northwest  corner  of  the 
orchard,  sheltered  on  one  side  by  a  thick  mul 
berry  hedge  and  bordered  on  the  other  by  a 
wheatfield,  just  beginning  to  yellow.  In  this 
corner  the  ground  dipped  a  little,  and  the  blue- 
grass,  which  the  weeds  had  driven  out  in  the 
upper  part  of  the  orchard,  grew  thick  and  luxu- 

134 


NEIGHBORING   FIELDS 

riant.  Wild  roses  were  flaming  in  the  tufts  of 
bunchgrass  along  the  fence.  Under  a  white 
mulberry  tree  there  was  an  old  wagon-seat. 
Beside  it  lay  a  book  and  a  workbasket. 

"You  must  have  the  seat,  Alexandra.  The 
grass  would  stain  your  dress,"  the  hostess  in 
sisted.  She  dropped  down  on  the  ground  at 
Alexandra's  side  and  tucked  her  feet  under  her. 
Carl  sat  at  a  little  distance  from  the  two  wo 
men,  his  back  to  the  wheatfield,  and  watched 
them.  Alexandra  took  off  her  shade-hat  and 
threw  it  on  the  ground.  Marie  picked  it  up  and 
played  with  the  white  ribbons,  twisting  them 
about  her  brown  fingers  as  she  talked.  They 
made  a  pretty  picture  in  the  strong  sunlight, 
the  leafy  pattern  surrounding  them  like  a  net; 
the  Swedish  woman  so  white  and  gold,  kindly 
and  amused,  but  armored  in  calm,  and  the  alert 
brown  one,  her  full  lips  parted,  points  of  yel 
low  light  dancing  in  her  eyes  as  she  laughed 
and  chattered.  Carl  had  never  forgotten  little 
Marie  Tovesky's  eyes,  and  he  was  glad  to  have 
an  opportunity  to  study  them.  The  brown 
iris,  he  found,  was  curiously  slashed  with  yel 
low,  the  color  of  sunflower  honey,  or  of  old 

135 


O   PIONEERS! 

amber.  In  each  eye  one  of  these  streaks  must 
have  been  larger  than  the  others,  for  the  effect 
was  that  of  two  dancing  points  of  light,  two 
little  yellow  bubbles,  such  as  rise  in  a  glass  of 
champagne.  Sometimes  they  seemed  like  the 
sparks  from  a  forge.  She  seemed  so  easily  ex 
cited,  to  kindle  with  a  fierce  little  flame  if  one 
but  breathed  upon  her.  "What  a  waste,"  Carl 
reflected.  "She  ought  to  be  doing  all  that  for 
a  sweetheart.  How  awkwardly  things  come 
about!" 

It  was  not  very  long  before  Marie  sprang  up 
out  of  the  grass  again.  "Wait  a  moment.  I 
want  to  show  you  something."  She  ran  away 
and  disappeared  behind  the  low-growing  apple 
trees. 

"What  a  charming  creature,"  Carl  mur 
mured.  "I  don't  wonder  that  her  husband  is 
jealous.  But  can't  she  walk?  does  she  always 
run?" 

Alexandra  nodded.  "Always.  I  don't  see 
many  people,  but  I  don't  believe  there  are  many 
like  her,  anywhere." 

Marie  came  back  with  a  branch  she  had 
broken  from  an  apricot  tree,  laden  with  pale- 

136 


NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 

yellow,  pink-cheeked  fruit.  She  dropped  it  be 
side  Carl.  "Did  you  plant  those,  too?  They  are 
such  beautiful  little  trees." 

Carl  fingered  the  blue-green  leaves,  porous 
like  blotting-paper  and  shaped  like  birch 
leaves,  hung  on  waxen  red  stems.  "Yes,  I 
think  I  did.  Are  these  the  circus  trees,  Alex 
andra?" 

"Shall  I  tell  her  about  them?"  Alexandra 
asked.  "Sit  down  like  a  good  girl,  Marie,  and 
don't  ruin  my  poor  hat,  and  I  '11  tell  you  a  story. 
A  long  time  ago,  when  Carl  and  I  were,  say, 
sixteen  and  twelve,  a  circus  came  to  Hanover 
and  we  went  to  town  in  our  wagon,  with  Lou 
and  Oscar,  to  see  the  parade.  We  had  n't 
money  enough  to  go  to  the  circus.  We  followed 
the  parade  out  to  the  circus  grounds  and  hung 
around  until  the  show  began  and  the  crowd 
went  inside  the  tent.  Then  Lou  was  afraid  we 
looked  foolish  standing  outside  in  the  pasture, 
so  we  went  back  to  Hanover  feeling  very  sad. 
There  was  a  man  in  the  streets  selling  apricots, 
and  we  had  never  seen  any  before.  He  had 
driven  down  from  somewhere  up  in  the  French 
country,  and  he  was  selling  them  twenty-five 

137 


O   PIONEERS! 

cents  a  peck.  We  had  a  little  money  our  fathers 
had  given  us  for  candy,  and  I  bought  two  pecks 
and  Carl  bought  one.  They  cheered  us  a  good 
deal,  and  we  saved  all  the  seeds  and  planted 
them.  Up  to  the  time  Carl  went  away,  they 
had  n't  borne  at  all." 

"And  now  he's  come  back  to  eat  them," 
cried  Marie,  nodding  at  Carl.  "That  is  a  good 
story.  I  can  remember  you  a  little,  Mr.  Lin- 
strum.  I  used  to  see  you  in  Hanover  some 
times,  when  Uncle  Joe  took  me  to  town.  I  re 
member  you  because  you  were  always  buying 
pencils  and  tubes  of  paint  at  the  drug  store. 
Once,  when  my  uncle  left  me  at  the  store,  you 
drew  a  lot  of  little  birds  and  flowers  for  me  on  a 
piece  of  wrapping-paper.  I  kept  them  for  a  long 
while.  I  thought  you  were  very  romantic  be 
cause  you  could  draw  and  had  such  black  eyes." 

Carl  smiled.  "Yes,  I  remember  that  time. 
Your  uncle  bought  you  some  kind  of  a  mechani 
cal  toy,  a  Turkish  lady  sitting  on  an  ottoman 
and  smoking  a  hookah,  was  n't  it?  And  she 
turned  her  head  backwards  and  forwards." 

"Oh,  yes !  Was  n't  she  splendid !  I  knew  well 
enough  I  ought  not  to  tell  Uncle  Joe  I  wanted 

138 


NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 

it,  for  he  had  just  come  back  from  the  saloon 
and  was  feeling  good.  You  remember  how  he 
laughed?  She  tickled  him,  too.  But  when  we 
got  home,  my  aunt  scolded  him  for  buying  toys 
when  she  needed  so  many  things.  We  wound 
our  lady  up  every  night,  and  when  she  began  to 
move  her  head  my  aunt  used  to  laugh  as  hard  as 
any  of  us.  It  was  a  music-box,  you  know,  and 
the  Turkish  lady  played  a  tune  while  she 
smoked.  That  was  how  she  made  you  feel  so 
jolly.  As  I  remember  her,  she  was  lovely,  and 
had  a  gold  crescent  on  her  turban." 

Half  an  hour  later,  as  they  were  leaving  the 
house,  Carl  and  Alexandra  were  met  in  the  path 
by  a  strapping  fellow  in  overalls  and  a  blue 
shirt.  He  was  breathing  hard,  as  if  he  had  been 
running,  and  was  muttering  to  himself. 

Marie  ran  forward,  and,  taking  him  by  the 
arm,  gave  him  a  little  push  toward  her  guests. 
"Frank,  this  is  Mr.  Linstrum." 

Frank  took  off  his  broad  straw  hat  and  nod 
ded  to  Alexandra.  When  he  spoke  to  Carl,  he 
showed  a  fine  set  of  white  teeth.  He  was 
burned  a  dull  red  down  to  his  neckband,  and 
tL  ^  e  was  a  heavy  three-days'  stubble  on  his 

139 


O  PIONEERS! 

face.  Even  in  his  agitation  he  was  handsome, 
but  he  looked  a  rash  and  violent  man. 

Barely  saluting  the  callers,  he  turned  at  once 
to  his  wife  and  began,  in  an  outraged  tone,  "I 
have  to  leave  my  team  to  drive  the  old  woman 
Killer's  hogs  out-a  my  wheat.  I  go  to  take  dat 
old  woman  to  de  court  if  she  ain't  careful,  I  tell 
you!" 

His  wife  spoke  soothingly.  "But,  Frank,  she 
has  only  her  lame  boy  to  help  her.  She  does  the 
best  she  can." 

Alexandra  looked  at  the  excited  man  and 
offered  a  suggestion.  "Why  don't  you  go  over 
there  some  afternoon  and  hog-tight  her  fences  ? 
You'd  save  time  for  yourself  in  the  end." 

Frank's  neck  stiffened.  "Not-a-much,  I 
won't.  I  keep  my  hogs  home.  Other  peoples 
can  do  like  me.  See?  If  that  Louis  can  mend 
shoes,  he  can  mend  fence." 

"Maybe,"  said  Alexandra  placidly;  "but 
I've  found  it  sometimes  pays  to  mend  other 
people's  fences.  Good-bye,  Marie.  Come  to 


see  me  soon.'1 


Alexandra  walked  firmly  down  the  path  and 
Carl  followed  her. 

140 


NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 

Frank  went  into  the  house  and  threw  himself 
on  the  sofa,  his  face  to  the  wall,  his  clenched  fist 
on  his  hip.  Marie,  having  seen  her  guests  off, 
came  in  and  put  her  hand  coaxingly  on  his 
shoulder. 

"  Poor  Frank !  You  've  run  until  you  Ve  made 
your  head  ache,  now  have  n't  you  ?  Let  me 
make  you  some  coffee." 

"What  else  am  I  to  do?"  he  cried  hotly  in 
Bohemian.  "Am  I  to  let  any  old  woman's  hogs 
root  up  my  wheat?  Is  that  what  I  work  myself 
to  death  for?" 

"Don't  worry  about  it,  Frank.  I'll  speak  to 
Mrs.  Hiller  again.  But,  really,  she  almost  cried 
last  time  they  got  out,  she  was  so  sorry." 

Frank  bounced  over  on  his  other  side. 
"That's  it;  you  always  side  with  them  against 
me.  They  all  know  it.  Anybody  here  feels  free 
to  borrow  the  mower  and  break  it,  or  turn  their 
hogs  in  on  me.  They  know  you  won't  care!" 

Marie  hurried  away  to  make  his  coffee. 
When  she  came  back,  he  was  fast  asleep.  She 
sat  down  and  looked  at  him  for  a  long  while, 
very  thoughtfully.  When  the  kitchen  clock 
struck  six  she  went  out  to  get  supper,  closing 

141 


O  PIONEERS! 

the  door  gently  behind  her.  She  was  always 
sorry  for  Frank  when  he  worked  himself  into 
one  of  these  rages,  and  she  was  sorry  to  have 
him  rough  and  quarrelsome  with  his  neighbors. 
She  was  perfectly  aware  that  the  neighbors  had 
a  good  deal  to  put  up  with,  and  that  they  bore 
with  Frank  for  her  sake. 


VII 

MARIE'S  father,  Albert  Tovesky,  was  one 
of  the  more  intelligent  Bohemians  who  came 
West  in  the  early  seventies.    He  settled   ;" 
Omaha  and  became  a  leader  and  adviser  am 
his  people  there.  Marie  was  his  youngest  cr. 
by  a  second  wife,  and  was  the  apple  of 
eye.    She  was  barely  sixteen,  and  was  in 
graduating  class  of  the  Omaha  High  Sch 
when  Frank  Shabata  arrived  from  the  old  a 
try  and  set  all  the  Bohemian  girls  in  a  flul 
He  was  easily  the  buck  of  the  beer-gard^o, 
and  on  Sunday  he  was  a  sight  to  see,  with  his 
silk  hat  and  tucked  shirt  and  blue  frock-coat, 
wearing  gloves  and  carrying  a  little  wisp  of  a 
yellow  cane.  He  was  tall  and  fair,  with  splendid 
teeth  and  close-cropped  yellow  curls,  and  he 
wore  a  slightly  disdainful  expression,  proper  for 
a   young  man  with   high   connections,  whose 
mother  had  a  big  farm  in  the  Elbe  valley.  There 
was  often  an  interesting  discontent  in  his  blue 
eyes,  and  every  Bohemian  girl  he  met  imagined 
herself  tb^  *  aise  of  that  unsatisfied  expression. 


O  PIONEERS! 

He  had  a  way  of  drawing  out  his  cambric  hand 
kerchief  slowly,  by  one  corner,  from  his  breast 
pocket,  that  was  melancholy  and  romantic  in 
the  extreme.  He  took  a  little  flight  with  each  of 
the  more  eligible  Bohemian  girls,  but  it  was 
when  he  was  with  little  Marie  Tovesky  that  he 
drew  his  handkerchief  out  most  slowly,  and, 
after  he  had  lit  a  fresh  cigar,  dropped  the  match 
most  despairingly.  Any  one  could  see,  with 
half  an  eye,  that  his  proud  heart  was  bleeding 
for  somebody. 

One  Sunday,  late  in  the  summer  after  Marie's 
graduation,  she  met  Frank  at  a  Bohemian  pic 
nic  down  the  river  and  went  rowing  with  him  all 
the  afternoon.  When  she  got  home  that  even 
ing  she  went  straight  to  her  father's  room  and 
told  him  that  she  was  engaged  to  Shabata.  Old 
Tovesky  was  having  a  comfortable  pipe  before 
he  went  to  bed.  When  he  heard  his  daughter's 
announcement,  he  first  prudently  corked  his 
beer  bottle  and  then  leaped  to  his  feet  and  had 
a  turn  of  temper.  He  characterized  Frank 
Shabata  by  a  Bohemian  expression  which  is  the 
equivalent  of  stuffed  shirt. 

"Why  don't  he  go  to  work  like  the  rest  of  us 
144 


NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 

did?  His  farm  in  the  Elbe  valley,  indeed! 
Ain't  he  got  plenty  brothers  and  sisters?  It's 
his  mother's  farm,  and  why  don't  he  stay 
at  home  and  help  her?  Have  n't  I  seen  his 
mother  out  in  the  morning  at  five  o'clock  with 
her  ladle  and  her  big  bucket  on  wheels,  putting 
liquid  manure  on  the  cabbages  ?  Don't  I  know 
the  look  of  old  Eva  Shabata's  hands  ?  Like  an 
old  horse's  hoofs  they  are  —  and  this  fellow 
wearing  gloves  and  rings!  Engaged,  indeed! 
You  are  n't  fit  to  be  out  of  school,  and  that 's 
what 's  the  matter  with  you.  I  will  send  you 
off  to  the  Sisters  of  the  Sacred  Heart  in  St. 
Louis,  and  they  will  teach  you  some  sense, 
/guess!" 

Accordingly,  the  very  next  week,  Albert 
Tovesky  took  his  daughter,  pale  and  tearful, 
down  the  river  to  the  convent.  But  the  way  to 
make  Frank  want  anything  was  to  tell  him  he 
could  n't  have  it.  He  managed  to  have  an  in 
terview  with  Marie  before  she  went  away,  and 
whereas  he  had  been  only  half  in  love  with  her 
before,  he  now  persuaded  himself  that  he  would 
not  stop  at  anything.  Marie  took  with  her  to 
the  convent,  under  the  canvas  lining  of  her 

145 


O  PIONEERS! 

trunk,  the  results  of  a  laborious  and  satisfying 
morning  on  Frank's  part;  no  less  than  a  dozen 
photographs  of  himself,  taken  in  a  dozen  differ 
ent  love-lorn  attitudes.  There  was  a  little  round 
photograph  for  her  watch-case,  photographs 
for  her  wall  and  dresser,  and  even  long  nar 
row  ones  to  be  used  as  bookmarks.  More  than 
once  the  handsome  gentleman  was  torn  to 
pieces  before  the  French  class  by  an  indignant 
nun. 

Marie  pined  in  the  convent  for  a  year,  until  her 
eighteenth  birthday  was  passed.  Then  she  met 
Frank  Shabata  in  the  Union  Station  in  St.  Louis 
and  ran  away  with  him.  Old  Tovesky  forgave  his 
daughter  because  there  was  nothing  else  to  do, 
and  bought  her  a  farm  in  the  country  that  she 
had  loved  so  well  as  a  child.  Since  then  her 
story  had  been  a  part  of  the  history  of  the 
Divide.  She  and  Frank  had  been  living  there 
for  five  years  when  Carl  Linstrum  came  back  to 
pay  his  long  deferred  visit  to  Alexandra.  Frank 
had,  on  the  whole,  done  better  than  one  might 
have  expected.  He  had  flung  himself  at  the 
soil  with  savage  energy.  Once  a  year  he  went 
to  Hastings  or  to  Omaha,  on  a  spree.  '  He 

146 


NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 

stayed  away  for  a  week  or  two,  and  then 
came  home  and  worked  like  a  demon.  He  did 
work;  if  he  felt  sorry  for  himself,  that  was  his 
own  affair. 


VIII 

ON  the  evening  of  the  day  of  Alexandra's  call 
at  the  Shabatas',  a  heavy  rain  set  in.  Frank  sat 
up  until  a  late  hour  reading  the  Sunday  newspa 
pers.  One  of  the  Goulds  was  getting  a  divorce, 
and  Frank  took  it  as  a  personal  affront.  In 
printing  the  stoiy  of  the  young  man's  mar 
ital  troubles,  the  knowing  editor  gave  a  suffi 
ciently  colored  account  of  his  career,  stating 
the  amount  of  his  income  and  the  manner  in 
which  he  was  supposed  to  spend  it.  Frank  read 
English  slowly,  and  the  more  he  read  about  this 
divorce  case,  the  angrier  he  grew.  At  last  he, 
threw  down  the  page  with  a  snort.  He  turned 
to  his  farm-hand  who  was  reading  the  other  half 
of  the  paper. 

"By  God!  if  I  have  that  young  feller  in  de 
hayfield  once,  I  show  him  someting.  Listen 
here  what  he  do  wit  his  money."  And  Frank 
began  the  catalogue  of  the  young  man's  reputed 
extravagances. 

Marie  sighed.  She  thought  it  hard  that  the 
Goulds,  for  whom  she  had  nothing  but  good 

148 


NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 

will,  should  make  her  so  much  trouble.  She 
hated  to  see  the  Sunday  newspapers  come  into 
the  house.  Frank  was  always  reading  about  the 
doings  of  rich  people  and  feeling  outraged.  He 
had  an  inexhaustible  stock  of  stories  about  their 
crimes  and  follies,  how  they  bribed  the  courts 
and  shot  down  their  butlers  with  impunity 
whenever  they  chose.  Frank  and  Lou  Bergson 
had  very  similar  ideas,  and  they  were  two  of  the 
political  agitators  of  the  county. 

The  next  morning  broke  clear  and  brilliant, 
but  Frank  said  the  ground  was  too  wet  to 
plough,  so  he  took  the  cart  and  drove  over  to 
Sainte-Agnes  to  spend  the  day  at  Moses  Mar 
cel's  saloon.  After  he  was  gone,  Marie  went  out 
to  the  back  porch  to  begin  her  butter-making.  A 
brisk  wind  had  come  up  and  was  driving  puffy 
white  clouds  across  the  sky.  The  orchard  was 
sparkling  and  rippling  in  the  sun.  Marie  stood 
looking  toward  it  wistfully,  her  hand  on  the  lid 
of  the  churn,  when  she  heard  a  sharp  ring  in  the 
air,  the  merry  sound  of  the  whetstone  on  the 
scythe.  That  invitation  decided  her.  She  ran 
into  the  house,  put  on  a  short  skirt  and  a  pair  of 
her  husband's  boots,  caught  up  a  tin  pail  and 

149 

g 


O  PIONEERS! 


started  for  the  orchard.  Emil  had  already  be 
gun  work  and  was  "mowing  vigorously.  When  he 
saw  her  coming,  he  stopped  and  wiped  his  brow. 
His  yellow  canvas  leggings  and  khaki  trousers 
were  splashed  to  the  knees. 

"Don't  let  me  disturb  you,  Emil.  I'm  going 
to  pick  cherries.  Is  n't  everything  beautiful 
after  the  rain?  Oh,  but  I'm  glad  to  get  this 
place  mowed!  When  I  heard  it  raining  in  the 
night,  I  thought  maybe  you  would  come  and 
do  it  for  me  to-day.  The  wind  wakened  me. 
Did  n't  it  blow  dreadfully?  Just  smell  the  wild 
roses!  They  are  always  so  spicy  after  a  rain. 
We  never  had  so  many  of  them  in  here  before. 
I  suppose  it's  the  wet  season.  Will  you  have  to 
cut  them,  too?" 

"If  I  cut  the  grass,  I  will,"  Emil  said  teas- 
ingly.  "What's  the  matter  with  you?  What 
makes  you  so  flighty?" 

"Am  I  flighty?  I  suppose  that's  the  wet  sea 
son,  too,  then.  It's  exciting  to  see  everything 
growing  so  fast,  —  and  to  get  the  grass  cut! 
Please  leave  the  roses  till  last,  if  you  must  cut 
them.  Oh,  I  don't  mean  all  of  them,  I  mean 
that  low  place  down  by  my  tree,  where  there 


NEIGHBORING   FIELDS 

are  so  many.  Are  n't  you  splashed !  Look  at 
the  spider-webs  all  over  the  grass.  Good-bye. 
I'll  call  you  if  I  see  a  snake." 

She  tripped  away  and  Emil  stood  looking 
after  her.  In  a  few  moments  he  heard  the  cher 
ries  dropping  smartly  into  the  pail,  and  he 
began  to  swing  his  scythe  with  that  long,  even 
stroke  that  few  American  boys  ever  learn / 
Marie  picked  cherries  and  sang  softly  to  herself, 
stripping  one  glittering  branch  after  another, 
shivering  when  she  caught  a  shower  of  rain 
drops  on  her  neck  and  hair.  And  Emil  mowed 
his  way  slowly  down  toward  the  cherry  trees. 

That  summer  the  rains  had  been  so  many 
and  opportune  that  it  was  almost  more  than 
Shabata  and  his  man  could  do  to  keep  up  with 
the  corn;  the  orchard  was  a  neglected  wilder 
ness.  All  sorts  of  weeds  and  herbs  and  flowers 
had  grown  up  there;  splotches  of  wild  larkspur, 
pale  green-and-white  spikes  of  hoarhound, 
plantations  of  wild  cotton,  tangles  of  foxtail 
and  wild  wheat.  South  of  the  apricot  trees,  cor 
nering  on  the  wheatfield,  was  Frank's  alfalfa, 
where  myriads  of  white  and  yellow  butterflies 
were  always  fluttering  above  the  purple  blos- 


O   PIONEERS! 

soms.  When  Emil  reached  the  lower  corner  by 
the  hedge,  Marie  was  sitting  under  her  white 
mulberry  tree,  the  pailful  of  cherries  beside  her, 
looking  off  at  the  gentle,  tireless  swelling  of  the 
wheat. 

"Emil,"  she  said  suddenly  —  he  was  mowing 
quietly  about  under  the  tree  so  as  not  to  disturb 
her —  "what  religion  did  the  Swedes  have  away 
back,  before  they  were  Christians?" 

Emil  paused  and  straightened  his  back.  "I 
don't  know.  About  like  the  Germans',  was  n't 
it?" 

Marie  went  on  as  if  she  had  not  heard  him. 
"The  Bohemians,  you  know,  were  tree  wor 
shipers  before  the  missionaries  came.  Father 
says  the  people  in  the  mountains  still  do  queer  { 
things,  sometimes,  —  they  believe  that  trees 
bring  good  or  bad  luck." 

Emil  looked  superior.  "Do  they?  Well, 
which  are  the  lucky  trees?  I'd  like  to  know." 

"I  don't  know  all  of  them,  but  I  know 
lindens  are.  The  old  people  in  the  mountains 
plant  lindens  to  purify  the  forest,  and  to  do 
away  with  the  spells  that  come  from  the  old 
trees  they  say  have  lasted  from  heathen  times. 

152 


NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 

I'm  a  good  Catholic,  but  I  think  I  could  get 
along  with  caring  for  trees,  if  I  had  n't  anything 
else." 

"That's  a  poor  saying,"  said  Emil,  stooping 
over  to  wipe  his  hands  in  the  wet  grass. 

"Why  is  it?   If  I  feel  that  way,  I  feel  that  \|\ 
way.    I  like  trees  because  they  seem  more    \\ 
resigned  to  the  way  they  have  to  live   than     | 
other  things  do.    I  feel  as  if  this  tree  knows 
everything  I  ever  think  of  when  I  sit  here. 
When  I  come  back  to  it,  I  never  have  to  re 
mind  it  of  anything;  I  begin  just  where  I  left 
off." 

Emil  had  nothing  to  say  to  this.  He  reached 
up  among  the  branches  and  began  to  pick  the 
sweet,  insipid  fruit, — long  ivory-colored  ber 
ries,  tipped  with  f|tint  pink,  like  white  coral, 
that  fall  to  the  ground  unheeded  all  summer 
through.  He  dropped  a  handful  into  her  lap. 

"Do  you  like  Mr.  Linstrum?"  Marie  asked 
suddenly. 

"Yes.  Don't  you?" 

"Oh,  ever  so  much;  only  he  seems  kind 
staid  and  school-teachery.  But,  of  course, ' 
older  than  Frank,  even.  I'm  sure  I  don'< 
i.     '  'S3 


O  PIONEERS! 

to  live  to  be  more  than  thirty,  do  you?  Do  you 
think  Alexandra  likes  him  very  much?" 

"I  suppose  so.  They  were  old  friends." 

"Oh,  Emil,  you  know  what  I  mean!"  Marie 
tossed  her  head  impatiently.  "Does  she  really 
care  about  him?  When  she  used  to  tell  me 
about  him,  I  always  wondered  whether  she 
was  n't  a  little  in  love  with  him." 

"Who,  Alexandra?"  Emil  laughed  and 
thrust  his  hands  into  his  trousers  pockets. 
"Alexandra's  never  been  in  love,  you  crazy!" 
He  laughed  again.  "  She  would  n't  know  how 
to  go  about  it.  The  idea!" 

Marie  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Oh,  you 
don't  know  Alexandra  as  well  as  you  think 
you  do!  If  you  had  any  eyes,  you  would  see 
that  she  is  very  fond  of  him.  It  would  serve 
you  all  right  if  she  walked  off  with  Carl.  I  like 
him  because  he  appreciates  her  more  than  you 
do." 

Emil  frowned.  "What  are  you  talking  about, 
Marie?  Alexandra's  all  right.  She  and  I  have 
always  been  good  friends.  What  more  do  you 

int?   I  like  to  talk  to  Carl  aboyt  New  York 
1  what  a  fellow  can  do  there." 
154 


NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 

"Oh,  Emil!  Surely  you  are  not  thinking  of 
going  off  there?" 

"Why  not?  I  must  go  somewhere,  must  n't 
I?"  The  young  man  took  up  his  scythe  and 
leaned  on  it.  "Would  you  rather  I  went  off  in 
the  sand  hills  and  lived  like  Ivar?" 

Marie's  face  fell  under  his  brooding  gaze.  She 
looked  down  at  his  wet  leggings.  "I'm  sure 
Alexandra  hopes  you  will  stay  on  here,"  she 
murmured. 

"Then  Alexandra  will  be  disappointed,"  the 
young  man  said  roughly.  "What  do  I  want  to 
hang  around  here  for?  Alexandra  can  run  the 
farm  all  right,  without  me.  I  don't  want  to 
stand  around  and  look  on.  I  want  to  be  doing 
something  on  my  own  account." 

"That's  so,"  Marie  sighed.  "There  are  so 
many,  many  things  you  can  do.  Almost  any 
thing  you  choose." 

"And  there  are  so  many,  many  things  I  can't 
do."  Emil  echoed  her  tone  sarcastically.  "Some 
times  I  don't  want  to  do  anything  at  all,  and 
sometimes  I  want  to  pull  the  four  corners  of 
the  Divide  together,"  —  he  threw  out  his  arm 
and  brought  it  back  with  a  jerk,  —  "so,  like  a 

155 


O   PIONEERS! 


table-cloth.  I  get  tired  of  seeing  men  and  horses 
going  up  and  down,  up  and  down." 

Marie  looked  up  at  his  defiant  figure  and  her 
face  clouded.  "I  wish  you  were  n't  so  restless, 
and  did  n't  get  so  worked  up  over  things,"  she 
said  sadly. 

"Thank  you,"  he  returned  shortly. 

She  sighed  despondently.  "Everything  I  say 
makes  you  cross,  don't  it?  And  you  never  used 
to  be  cross  to  me." 

Emil  took  a  step  nearer  and  stood  frowning 
down  at  her  bent  head.  He  stood  in  an  attitude 
of  self-defense,  his  feet  well  apart,  his  hands 
clenched  and  drawn  up  at  his  sides,  so  that  the 
cords  stood  out  on  his  bare  arms.  "I  can't  play 
with  you  like  a  little  boy  any  more,"  he  said 
slowly.  "That's  what  you  miss,  Marie.  You'll 
have  to  get  some  other  little  boy  to  play  with." 
He  stopped  and  took  a  deep  breath.  Then  he 
went  on  in  a  low  tone,  so  intense  that  it  was 
almost  threatening:  "Sometimes  you  seem  to 
understand  perfectly,  and  then  sometimes  you 
pretend  you  don't.  You  don't  help  things  any 
by  pretending.  It's  then"  that  I  want  to  pull 
the  corners  of  the  Divide  together.  If  you 

156 


NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 

won't  understand,  you  know,  I  could  make 
you!" 

Marie  clasped  her  hands  and  started  up  from 
her  seat.  She  had  grown  very  pale  and  her  eyes 
were  shining  with  excitement  and  distress. 
"But,  Emil,  if  I  understand,  then  all  our  good'! 
times  are  over,  we  can  never  do  nice  things  to 
gether  any  more.  We  shall  have  to  behave  like 
Mr.  Linstrum.  And,  anyhow,  there's  nothing 
to  understand!"  She  struck  the  ground  with 
I  her  little  foot  fiercely.  "That  won't  last.  It 
will  go  away,  and  things  will  be  just  as  they 
used  to.  I  wish  you  were  a  Catholic.  The 
Church  helps  people,  indeed  it  does.  I  pray  for 
you,  but  that's  not  the  same  as  if  you  prayed 
yourself." 

She  spoke  rapidly  and  pleadingly,  looked 
entreatingly  into  Jiis  face.  Emil  stood  defiant, 
gazing  down  at  her. 

"I  can't  pray  to  have  the  things  I  want,"  he 
said  slowly,  "and  I  won't  pray  not  to  have 
them,  not  if  I  'm  damned  for  it." 

Marie  turned  away,  wringing  her  hands. 
"Oh,  Emil,  you  won't  try!  Then  all  our  good 
times  are  over." 

157 


O   PIONEERS! 


"Yes;  over.  I  never  expect  to  have  any 
more." 

Emil  gripped  the  hand-holds  of  his  scythe 
and  began  to  mow.  Marie  took  up  her  cherries 
and  went  slowly  toward  the  house,  crying 
bitterly. 


IX 

ON  Sunday  afternoon,  a  month  after  Carl 
Linstrum's  arrival,  he  rode  with  Emil  up  into 
the  French  country  to  attend  a  Catholic  fair. 
He  sat  for  most  of  the  afternoon  in  the  base 
ment  of  the  church,  where  the  fair  was  held, 
talking  to  Marie  Shabata,  or  strolled  about  the 
gravel  terrace,  thrown  up  on  the  hillside  in 
front  of  the  basement  doors,  where  the  French 
boys  were  jumping  and  wrestling  and  throwing 
the  discus.  Some  of  the  boys  were  in  their 
white  baseball  suits;  they  had  just  come  up 
from  a  Sunday  practice  game  down  in  the  ball- 
grounds.  Amedee,  the  newly  married,  Emil's 
best  friend,  was  their  pitcher,  renowned  among 
the  country  towns  for  his  dash  and  skill. 
Amedee  was  a  little  fellow,  a  year  younger  than 
Ernil  and  much  more  boyish  in  appearance; 
very  lithe  and  active  and  neatly  made,  with  a 
clear  brown  and  white  skin,  and  flashing  white 
teeth.  The  Sainte-Agnes  boys  were  to  play  the 
Hastings  nine  in  a  fortnight,  and  Amedee's 
lightning  balls  were  the  hope  of  his  team.  The 


O   PIONEERS! 

little  Frenchman  seemed  to  get  every  ounce 
there  was  in  him  behind  the  ball  as  it  left  his 
hand. 

"You  'd  have  made  the  battery  at  the  Univer 
sity  for  sure,  'Medee,"  Emil  said  as  they  were 
walking  from  the  ball-grounds  back  to  the 
church  on  the  hill.  "You're  pitching  better 
than  you  did  in  the  spring." 

Amedee  grinned.  "Sure!  A  married  man 
don't  lose  his  head  no  more."  He  slapped  Emil 
on  the  back  as  he  caught  step  with  him.  "Oh, 
Emil,  you  wanna  get  married  right  off  quick! 
It's  the  greatest  thing  ever!" 

Emil  laughed.  "How  am  I  going  to  get  mar 
ried  without  any  girl?" 

Amedee  took  his  arm.  "Pooh!  There  are 
plenty  girls  will  have  you.  You  wanna  get  some 
nice  French  girl,  now.  She  treat  you  well; 
always  be  jolly.  See,"  —  he  began  checking  off 
on  his  fingers,  —  "there  is  Severine,  and 
Alphosen,  and  Josephine,  and  Hectorine,  and 
Louise,  and  Malvina  —  why,  I  could  love  any 
of  them  girls!  Why  don't  you  get  after  them? 
Are  you  stuck  up,  Emil,  or  is  anything  the 
matter  with  you?  I  never  did  know  a  boy 

1 60 


NEIGHBORING   FIELDS 

twenty-two  years  old  before  that  didn't  have 
no  girl.  You  wanna  be  a  priest,  maybe?  Not-a 
for  me!"  Amedee  swaggered.  "I  bring  many 
good  Catholics  into  this  world,  I  hope,  and 
that's  a  way  I  help  the  Church." 

Emil  looked  down  and  patted  him  on  the 
shoulder.  "Now  you're  windy,  'Medee.  You 
Frenchies  like  to  brag." 

But  Amedee  had  the  zeal  of  the  newly  mar 
ried,  and  he  was  not  to  be  lightly  shaken  off. 
"Honest  and  true,  Emil,  don't  you  want  any 
girl?  Maybe  there's  some  young  lady  in  Lin 
coln,  now,  very  grand,"  —  Amedee  waved  his 
hand  languidly  before  his  face  to  denote  the 
fan  of  heartless  beauty,  —  "and  you  lost  your 
heart  up  there.  Is  that  it?" 

"Maybe,"  said  Emil. 

But  Amedee  saw  no  appropriate  glow  in  his 
friend's  face.  "Bah!"  he" exclaimed  in  disgust. 
"I  tell  all  the  French  girls  to  keep  'way  from 
you.  You  gotta  rock  in  there,"  thumping  Emil 
on  the  ribs. 

When  they  reached  the  terrace  at  the  side  of 
the  church,  Amedee,  who  was  excited  by  his 
success  on  the  ball-grounds,  challenged  Emil 

161 


O  PIONEERS! 

to  a  jumping-match,  though  he  knew  he  would 
be  beaten.  They  belted  themselves  up,  and 
Raoul  Marcel,  the  choir  tenor  and  Father 
Duchesne's  pet,  and  Jean  Bordelau,  held  the 
string  over  which  they  vaulted.  All  the 
French  boys  stood  round,  cheering  and  hump 
ing  themselves  up  when  Emil  or  Amedee  went 
over  the  wire,  as  if  they  were  helping  in  the  lift. 
Emil  stopped  at  five-feet-five,  declaring  that 
he  would  spoil  his  appetite  for  supper  if  he 
jumped  any  more. 

Angelique,  Amedee's  pretty  bride,  as  blonde 
and  fair  as  her  name,  who  had  come  out  to 
watch  the  match,  tossed  her  head  at  Emil  and 
said:  — 

"'Medee  could  jump  much  higher  than  you 
if  he  were  as  tall.  And  anyhow,  he  is  much  more 
graceful.  He  goes  over  like  a  bird,  and  you 
have  to  hump  yourself  all  up." 

"Oh,  I  do,  do  I?"  Emil  caught  her  and 
kissed  her  saucy  mouth  squarely,  while  she 
laughed  and  struggled  and  called,  "'Medee! 
'Medee!" 

"There,  you  see  your  'Medee  is  n't  even  big 
enough  to  get  you  away  from  me.  I  could  run 

162 


NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 

away  with  you  right  now  and  he  could  only  sit 
down  and  cry  about  it.  I  '11  show  you  whether 
I  have  to  hump  myself!"  Laughing  and  pant 
ing,  he  picked  Angelique  up  in  his  arms  and 
began  running  about  the  rectangle  with  her. 
Not  until  he  saw  Marie  Shabata's  tiger  eyes 
flashing  from  the  gloom  of  the  basement  door 
way  did  he  hand  the  disheveled  bride  over 
to  her  husband.  "There,  go  to  your  graceful ; 
I  have  n't  the  heart  to  take  you  away  from 
him." 

Angelique  clung  to  her  husband  and  made 

faces   at  Emil   over   the   white   shoulder   of 

Amedee's  ball-shirt.  Emil  was  greatly  amused 

at  her  air  of  proprietorship  and  at  Amedee's 

shameless  submission  to  it.   He  was  delighted 

i  with  his  friend's  good  fortune.  He  liked  to  see 

I  and  to  think  about  Amedee's  sunny,  natural, 

happy  love. 

He  and  Amedee  had  ridden  and  wrestled  and 

larked  together  since  they  were  lads  of  twelve. 

On  Sundays  and  holidays  they  were  always 

I  arm  in  arm.    It  seemed  strange  that  now  he 

!  should  have  to  hide  the  thing  that  Amedee  was 

so  proud  of,  that  the  feeling  which  gave  one  of 

163 


O   PIONEERS! 

/them  such  happiness  should  bring  the  other 

-'  such  despair.  It  was  like  that  when  Alexandra 

j  tested  her  seed-corn  in  the  spring,  he  mused. 

V  From  two  ears  that  had  grown  side  by  side,  the 

grains  of  one  shot  up  joyfully  into  the  light, 

I  projecting  themselves  into  the  future,  and  the 

j  grains  from  the  other  lay  still  in  the  earth  and 

!  rotted;  and  nobody  knew  why. 

- 
. 


X 

WHILE  Emil  and  Carl  were  amusing  them 
selves  at  the  fair,  Alexandra  was  at  home,  busy 
with  her  account-books,  which  Lad  been  ne 
glected  of  late.  She  was  almost  through  with 
her  figures  when  she  heard  a  cart  drive  up  to  the 
gate,  and  looking  out  of  the  window  she  saw  her 
two  older  brothers.  They  had  seemed  to  avoid 
her  ever  since  Carl  Linstrum's  arrival,  four 
weeks  ago  that  day,  and  she  hurried  to  the 
door  to  welcome  them.  She  saw  at  once  that 
they  had  come  with  some  very  definite  purpose. 
They  followed  her  stifHy  into  the  sitting-room. 
Oscar  sat  down,  but  Lou  walked  over  to  the 
window  and  remained  standing,  his  hands  be 
hind  him. 

"You  are  by  yourself?"  he  asked,  looking 
toward  the  doorway  into  the  parlor. 

"Yes.  Carl  and  Emil  went  up  to  the  Catho 
lic  fair." 

For  a  few  moments  neither  of  the  men  spoke. 

Then  Lou  came  out  sharply.  "How  soon 
does  he  intend  to  go  away  from  here?" 


O   PIONEERS! 

"I  don't  know,  Lou.  Not  for  some  time,  I 
hope."  Alexandra  spoke  in  an  even,  quiet  tone 
that  often  exasperated  her  brothers.  They  felt 
that  she  was  trying  to  be  superior  with  them. 

Oscar  spoke  up  grimly.  aWe  thought  we 
ought  to  tell  you  that  people  have  begun  to 
talk,"  he  said  meaningly. 

Alexandra  looked  at  him.   "What  about?"  I 

Oscar  met  her  eyes  blankly.  "About  you, 
keeping  him  here  so  long.  It  looks  bad  for  him 
to  be  hanging  on  to  a  woman  this  way.  People 
think  you're  getting  taken  in." 

Alexandra  shut  her  account-book  firmly. 
"Boys,"  she  said  seriously,  "don't  let's  go  on 
with  this.  We  won't  come  out  anywhere.  I 
can't  take  advice  on  such  a  matter.  I  know  you 
mean  well,  but  you  must  not  feel  responsible  for 
me  in  things  of  this  sort.  If  we  go  on  with  this 
talk  it  will  only  make  hard  feeling." 

Lou  whipped  about  from  the  window.  "You 
ought  to  think  a  little  about  your  family. 
You're  making  us  all  ridiculous." 

"How  am  I?" 

"People  are  beginning  to  say  you  want  to 
marry  the  fellow." 

166 


NEIGHBORING   FIELDS 

"Well,  and  what  is  ridiculous  about  that?" 

Lou  and  Oscar  exchanged  outraged  looks. 
"Alexandra!  Can't  you  see  he's  just  a  tramp 
and  he's  after  your  money?  He  wants  to  be 
taken  care  of,  he  does!" 

"Well,  suppose  I  want  to  take  care  of  him? 
Whose  business  is  it  but  my  own?" 

"Don't  you  know  he'd  get  hold  of  your 
property?" 

"He  'd  get  hold  of  what  I  wished  to  give  him, 
certainly." 

Oscar  sat  up  suddenly  and  Lou  clutched  at 
his  bristly  hair. 

"Give  him?"  Lou  shouted.  "Our  property, 
our  homestead?" 

"I  don't  know  about  the  homestead,"  said 
Alexandra  quietly.  "I  know  you  and  Oscar 
have  always  expected  that  it  would  be  left  to 
your  children,  and  I  'm  not  sure  but  what 
you're  right.  But  I'll  do  exactly  as  I  please 
with  the  rest  of  my  land,  boys." 

"The  rest  of  your  land!"  cried  Lou,  growing 
more  excited  every  minute.  "Did  n't  all  the 
land  come  out  of  the  homestead  ?  It  was  bought 
with  money  borrowed  on  the  homestead,  and 

167 


O   PIONEERS! 

Oscar  and  me  worked  ourselves  to  the  bone 
paying  interest  on  it." 

"Yes,  you  paid  the  interest.  But  when  you 
married  we  made  a  division  of  the  land,  and  you 
were  satisfied.  I've  made  more  on  my  farms 
since  I  Ve  been  alone  than  when  we  all  worked 
together." 

"Everything  you've  made  has  come  out  of 
the  original  land  that  us  boys  worked  for, 
has  n't  it?  The  farms  and  all  that  comes  out  of 
them  belongs  to  us  as  a  family." 

Alexandra  waved  her  hand  impatiently. 
"Come  now,  Lou.  Stick  to  the  facts.  You  are 
talking  nonsense.  Go  to  the  county  clerk  and 
ask  him  who  owns  my  land,  and  whether  my 
titles  are  good." 

Lou  turned  to  his  brother.  "This  is  what 
comes  of  letting  a  woman  meddle  in  business," 
he  said  bitterly.  "We  ought  to  have  taken 
things  in  our  own  hands  years  ago.  But  she 
liked  to  run  things,  and  we  humored  her.  We 
thought  you  had  good  sense,  Alexandra.  We 
never  thought  you  'd  do  anything  foolish." 

Alexandra  rapped  impatiently  on  her  desk 
with  her  knuckles.  "Listen,  Lou.  Don't  talk 

168 


NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 

wild.  You  say  you  ought  to  have  taken  things 
into  your  own  hands  years  ago.  I  suppose  you 
mean  before  you  left  home.  But  how  could  you 
take  hold  of  what  was  n't  there?  I  Ve  got  most 
of  what  I  have  now  since  we  divided  the  prop- 
erty ;  I  Ve  built  it  up  myself,  and  it  has  nothing 
to  do  with  you." 

Oscar  spoke  up  solemnly.  "The  property  of  a 
family  really  belongs  to  the  men  of  the  family, 
no  matter  about  the  title.  If  anything  goes 
wrong,  it's  the  men  that  are  held  responsible." 

"Yes,  of  course,"  Lou  broke  in.  "Everybody 
knows  that.  Oscar  and  me  have  always  been 
easy-going  and  we've  never  made  any  fuss. 
We  were  willing  you  should  hold  the  land  and 
have  the  good  of  it,  but  you  got  no  right  to 
part  with  any  of  it.  We  worked  in  the  fields 
to  pay  for  the  first  land  you  bought,  and  what 
ever 's  come  out  of  it  has  got  to  be  kept  in  the 
family." 

Oscar  reinforced  his  brother,  his  mind  fixed    / 
on  the  one  point  he  could  see.   "The  property    j 
of  a  family  belongs  to  the  men  of  the  family,    * 
because  they  are  held  responsible,  and  because  \ 
they  do  the  work." 

169 


O   PIONEERS! 

Alexandra  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  her 
eyes  full  of  indignation.  She  had  been  impa 
tient  before,  but  now  she  was  beginning  to  feel 
angry.  "  And  what  about  my  work  ? "  she  asked 
in  an  unsteady  voice. 

Lou  looked  at  the  carpet.  "Oh,  now,  Alex 
andra,  you  always  took  it  pretty  easy!  Of 
course  we  wanted  you  to.  You  liked  to  manage 
round,  and  we  always  humored  you.  We  realize 
you  were  a  great  deal  of  help  to  us.  There's  no 
woman  anywhere  around  that  knows  as  much 
about  business  as  you  do,  and  we've  always 
been  proud  of  that,  and  thought  you  were 
pretty  smart.  But,  of  course,  the  real  work 
always  fell  on  us.  Good  advice  is  all  right,  but 
it  don't  get  the  weeds  out  of  the  corn." 

"Maybe  not,  but  it  sometimes  puts  in  the 
crop,  and  it  sometimes  keeps  the  fields  for  corn 
to  grow  in,"  said  Alexandra  dryly.  "Why, 
Lou,  I  can  remember  when  you  and  Oscar 
wanted  to  sell  this  homestead  and  all  the  im 
provements  to  old  preacher  Ericson  for  two 
thousand  dollars.  If  I'd  consented,  you'd  have 
gone  down  to  the  river  and  scraped  along  on 
poor  farms  for  the  rest  of  your  lives.  When  I 

170 


NEIGHBORING   FIELDS 

put  in  our  first  field  of  alfalfa  you  both  opposed 
me,  just  because  I  first  heard  about  it  from  a 
young  man  who  had  been  to  the  University. 
You  said  I  was  being  taken  in  then,  and  all  the 
neighbors  said  so.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do 
that  alfalfa  has  been  the  salvation  of  this  coun 
try.  You  all  laughed  at  me  when  I  said  our 
land  here  was  about  ready  for  wheat,  and  I  had 
to  raise  three  big  wheat  crops  before  the  neigh 
bors  quit  putting  all  their  land  in  corn.  Why,  I 
remember  you  cried,  Lou,  when  we  put  in  the 
first  big  wheat-planting,  and  said  everybody 
was  laughing  at  us." 

>Lou  turned  to  Oscar.  "That's  the  woman  of 
it;  if  she  tells  you  to  put  in  a  crop,  she  thinks 
she's  put  it  in.  It  makes  women  conceited  to 
meddle  in  business.  I  should  n't  think  you'd 
want  to  remind  us  how  hard  you  were  on  us, 
Alexandra,  after  the  way  you  baby  Emil." 

"Hard  on  you?  I  never  meant  to  be  hard. 
Conditions  were  hard.  Maybe  I  would  never 
have  been  very  soft,  anyhow;  but  I  certainly 
did  n't  choose  to  be  the  kind  of  girl  I  was.  If 
you  take  even  a  vine  and  cut  it  back  again  and 
again,  it  grows  hard,  like  a  tree." 

171 


O  PIONEERS! 

' 

Lou  felt  that  they  were  wandering  from  the 
point,  and  that  in  digression  Alexandra  might 
unnerve  him.  He  wiped  his  forehead  with  a 
jerk  of  his  handkerchief.  "We  never  doubted 
you,  Alexandra.  We  never  questioned  any 
thing  you  did.  YouVe  always  had  your  own 
way.  But  you  can't  expect  us  to  sit  like  stumps 
and  see  you  done  out  of  the  property  by  any 
loafer  who  happens  along,  and  making  yourself 
ridiculous  into  the  bargain." 

Oscar  rose.  "Yes,"  he  broke  in,  "every 
body's  laughing  to  see  you  get  took  in;  at  your 
age,  too.  Everybody  knows  he's  nearly  five 
years  younger  than  you,  and  is  after  your 
money.  Why,  Alexandra,  you  are  forty  years 
old!" 

"All  that  does  n't  concern  anybody  but  Carl 
and  me.  Go  to  town  and  ask  your  lawyers  what 
you  can  do  to  restrain  me  from  disposing  of  my 
own  property.  And  I  advise  you  to  do  what 
they  tell  you;  for  the  authority  you  can  exert 
by  law  is  the  only  influence  you  will  ever  have 
over  me  again."  Alexandra  rose.  "I  think  I 
\  would  rather  not  have  lived  to  find  out  what  I 
have  to-day,"  she  said  quietly,  closing  her  desk. 

172 


NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 

Lou  and  Oscar  looked  at  each  other  ques- 
tioningly.  There  seemed  to  be  nothing  to  do 
but  to  go,  and  they  walked  out. 

"You  can't  do  business  with  women,"  Oscar 
said  heavily  as  he  clambered  into  the  cart. 
"But  anyhow,  we've  had  our  say,  at  last." 

Lou  scratched  his  head.  "Talk  of  that  kind 
might  come  too  high,  you  know;  but  she's  apt 
to  be  sensible.  You  had  n't  ought  to  said  that 
about  her  age,  though,  Oscar.  I  'm  afraid  that 
hurt  her  feelings;  and  the  worst  thing  we  can  do 
is  to  make  her  sore  at  us.  She'd  marry  him  out 
of  contrariness." 

"I  only  meant,"  said  Oscar,  "that  she  is  old 
enough  to  know  better,  and  she  is.  If  she  was 
going  to  marry,  she  ought  to  done  it  long  ago, 
and  not  go  making  a  fool  of  herself  now." 

Lou  looked  anxious,  nevertheless.  "Of 
course,"  he  reflected  hopefully  and  incon 
sistently,  "Alexandra  ain't  much  like  other 
women-folks.  Maybe  it  won't  make  her  sore. 
Maybe  she'd  as  soon  be  forty  as  not!" 


XI 

EMIL  came  home  at  about  half-past  seven 
o'clock  that  evening.  Old  Ivar  met  him  at  the 
windmill  and  took  his  horse,  and  the  young  man 
went  directly  into  the  house.  He  called  to  his 
sister  and  she  answered  from  her  bedroom, 
behind  the  sitting-room,  saying  that  she  was 
lying  down. 

Emil  went  to  her  door. 

"Can  I  see  you  for  a  minute?"  he  asked.  "I 
want  to  talk  to  you  about  something  before 
Carl  comes." 

. 

Alexandra  rose  quickly  and  came  to  the  door. 
"Where  is  Carl?" 

"Lou  and  Oscar  met  us  and  said  they  wanted 
to  talk  to  him,  so  he  rode  over  to  Oscar's  with 
them.  Are  you  coming  out?"  Emil  asked 
impatiently. 

i"Yes,  sit  down.  I'll  be  dressed  in  a  mo 
ment." 

Alexandra  closed  her  door,  and  Emil  sank 
down  on  the  old  slat  lounge  and  sat  with  his 
head  in  his  hands.  When  his  sister  came  out,  he 

174 


NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 

looked  up,  not  knowing  whether  the  interval 
had  been  short  or  long,  and  he  was  surprised  to 
see  that  the  room  had  grown  quite  dark.  That 
was  just  as  well;  it  would  be  easier  to  talk  if  he 
Were  not  under  the  gaze  of  those  clear,  deliber 
ate  eyes,  that  saw  so  far  in  some  directions  and 
were  so  blind  in  others.  Alexandra,  too,  was 
glad  of  the  dusk.  Her  face  was  swollen  from 
crying. 

Emil  started  up  and  then  sat  down  again. 
"Alexandra,"  he  said  slowly,  in  his  deep  young 
baritone,  "I  don't  want  to  go  away  to  law 
school  this  fall.  Let  me  put  it  off  another  year. 
I  want  to  take  a  year  off  and  look  around.  It's 
awfully  easy  to  rush  into  a  profession  you  don't 
really  like,  and  awfully  hard  to  get  out  of  it. 
Linstrum  and  I  have  been  talking  about  that." 

"Very  well,  Emil.  Only  don't  go  off  looking 
for  land."  She  came  up  and  put  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder.  "I've  been  wishing  you  could  stay 
with  me  this  winter." 

"That's  just  what  I  don't  want  to  do,  Alex 
andra.  I'm  restless.  I  want  to  go  to  a  new  place. 
I  want  to  go  down  to  the  City  of  Mexico  to  join 
one  of  the  University  fellows  who 's  at  the  head 

175 


O   PIONEERS! 

of  an  electrical  plant.  He  wrote  me  he  could 
give  me  a  little  job,  enough  to  pay  my  way,  and 
I  could  look  around  and  see  what  I  want  to  do. 
I  want  to  go  as  soon  as  harvest  is  over.  I  guess 
Lou  and  Oscar  will  be  sore  about  it." 

"I  suppose  they  will."  Alexandra  sat  down 
on  the  lounge  beside  him.  "They  are  very 
angry  with  me,  Emil.  We  have  had  a  quarrel. 
They  will  not  come  here  again." 

Emil  scarcely  heard  what  she  was  saying;  he 
did  not  notice  the  sadness  of  her  tone.  He  was 
thinking  about  the  reckless  life  he  meant  to  live 
in  Mexico. 

"What  about?"  he  asked  absently. 

"About  Carl  Linstrum.  They  are  afraid  I  am 
going  to  marry  him,  and  that  some  of  my 
property  will  get  away  from  them." 

Emil  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "What  non 
sense!"  he  murmured.  "Just  like  them." 

Alexandra  drew  back.  "Why  nonsense, , 
Emil?" 

"Why,  you  Ve  never  thought  of  such  a  thing, , 
have  you?  They  always  have  to  have  some-- 
thing  to  fuss  about." 

"Emil,"  said  his  sister  slowly,  "you  ought i 
176 


NEIGHBORING   FIELDS     .** 

not  to  take  things  for  granted.  Do  you  agree 
;  with  them  that  I  have  no  right  to  change  my 
•way  of  living?" 

Emil  looked  at  the  outline  of  his  sister's  head 
in  the  dim  light.  They  were  sitting  close  to 
gether  and  he  somehow  felt  that  she  could 
ihear  his  thoughts.  He  was  silent  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  said  in  an  embarrassed  tone, 
"Why,  no,  certainly  not.  You  ought  to  do 
whatever  you  want  to.  I  '11  always  back  you." 

"But  it  would  seem  a  little  bit  ridiculous  to 
you  if  I  married  Carl?" 

Emil  fidgeted.  The  issue  seemed  to  him  too 
far-fetched  to  warrant  discussion.  "Why,  no. 
I  should  be  surprised  if  you  wanted  to.  I  can't 
see  exactly  why.  But  that's  none  of  my  busi 
ness.  You  ought  to  do  as  you  please.  Certainly 
you  ought  not  to  pay  any  attention  to  what  the 
boys  say." 

Alexandra  sighed.  "I  had  hoped  you  might 
understand,  a  little,  why  I  do  want  to.  But  I 
suppose  that's  too  much  to  expect.  I've  had  a 
pretty  lonely  life,  Emil.  Besides  Marie,  Carl  is 
jthe  only  friend  I  have  ever  had." 

Emi1  was  awake  now;  a  name  in  her  last  sen- 


O   PIONEERS! 

tence  roused  him.  He  put  out  his  hand  an< 
took  his  sister's  awkwardly.  "You  ought  to  do 
just  as  you  wish,  and  I  think  Carl's  a  fine  fel 
low.  He  and  I  would  always  get  on.  I  don't 
believe  any  of  the  things  the  boys  say  about 
him,  honest  I  don't.  They  are  suspicious  of  him 
because  he's  intelligent.  You  know  their  way. 
They've  been  sore  at  me  ever  since  you  let  me 
go  away  to  college.  They're  always  trying  to 
catch  me  up.  If  I  were  you,  I  would  n't  pay 
any  attention  to  them.  There's  nothing  to  geti 
upset  about.  Carl 's  a  sensible  fellow.  He  won't 
mind  them." 

"I  don't  know.  If  they  talk  to  him  the  way 
they  did  to  me,  I  think  he'll  go  away." 

Emil  grew  more  and  more  uneasy.  "Think* 
so?  Well,  Marie  said  it  would  serve  us  all  right: 
if  you  walked  off  with  him." 

"Did  she?  Bless  her  little  heart!  SA*  would.'*1 
Alexandra's  voice  broke. 

Emil  began  unlacing  his  leggings.    "Wrr 
don't  you  talk  to  her  about  it?  There's  Carl, 
hear  his  horse.  I  guess  I'll  go  upstaiis  and  gett 
my  boots  off.  No,  I  don't  want  any  sup oer.  We 
had  supper  at  five  o'clock,  at  the  fair." 


' 
NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 

Emil  was  glad  to  escape  and  get  to  his  own 
(room.  He  was  a  little  ashamed  for  his  sister, 
'though  he  had  tried  not  to  show  it.  He  felt 
:that  there  was  something  indecorous  in  her 
proposal,  and  she  did  seem  to  him  somewhat 
ridiculous.  There  was  trouble  enough  in  the 
.world,  he  reflected,  as  he  threw  himself  upon 
his  bed,  without  people  who  were  forty  years 
old  imagining  they  wanted  to  get  married.  In 
;the  darkness  and  silence  Emil  was  not  likely  to 
jj think  long  about  Alexandra.  Every  image 
ji  slipped  away  but  one.  lie  had  seen  Marie  in 
Ijthe  crowd  that  afternoon.  She  sold  candy  at  the 
fair.  Why  had  she  ever  run  away  with  Frank 
Shabata,  and  how  could  she  go  on  laughing  and 
working  and  taking  an  interest  in  things  ?  Why 
did  she  like  so  many  people,  and  why  had  she 
seemed  pleased  when  all  the  French  and  Bohe 
mian  boys,  and  the  priest  himself,  crowded 
round  her  candy  stand?  Why  did  she  care 
about  any  one  but  him?  Why  could  he  never, 
never  find  the  thing  he  looked  for  in  her  playful, 
affectionate  eyes? 

Then  he  fell  to  imagining  that  he  looked  once 
more  and  found  it  there,  and  what  it  would  be 

179 


O   PIONEERS! 

like  if  she  loved  him,  —  she  who,  as  Alexandra 
said,  could  give  her  whole  heart.  In  that  dream 
he  could  lie  for  hours,  as  if  in  a  trance.  His  spirit 
went  out  of  his  body  and  crossed  the  fields  to 
Marie  Shabata. 

At  the  University  dances  the  girls  had  often 
looked  wonderingly  at  the  tall  young  Swede 
with  the  fine  head,  leaning  against  the  wall  and 
frowning,  his  arms  folded,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ceiling  or  the  floor.  All  the  girls  were  a  little 
afraid  of  him.  He  was  distinguished-looking, 
and  not  the  jollying  kind.  They  felt  that  he  was 
too  intense  and  preoccupied.  There  was  some 
thing  queer  about  him.  EmiPs  fraternity 
rather  prided  itself  upon  its  dances,  and  some 
times  he  did  his  duty  and  danced  every  dance. 
But  whether  he  was  on  the  floor  or  brooding  in  a 
corner,  he  was  always  thinking  about  Marie 
Shabata.  For  two  years  the  storm  had  been 
gathering  in  him. 


XII 

CARL  came  into  the  sitting-room  while  Alex 
andra  was  lighting  the  lamp.  She  looked  up  at 
him  as  she  adjusted  the  shade.  His  sharp  shoul 
ders  stooped  as  if  he  were  very  tired,  his  face 
was  pale,  and  there  were  bluish  shadows  under 
his  dark  eyes.  His  anger  had  burned  itself  out 
!  and  left  him  sick  and  disgusted. 

"You  have  seen  Lou  and  Oscar?"  Alexandra 
asked. 

"Yes."  His  eyes  avoided  hers. 

Alexandra  took  a  deep  breath.    "And  now 
you  are  going  away.  I  thought  so." 

Carl  threw  himself  into  a  chair  and  pushed 
the  dark  lock  back  from  his  forehead  with  his 
| white,  nervous  hand.    "What  a  hopeless  posi 
tion  you  are  in,  Alexandra!"  he  exclaimeci 
\ feverishly.    "It  is  your  fate  to  be  always  sur-j 
j rounded  by  little  men.  And  I  am  no  better  tharM 
jthe  rest.  I  am  too  little  to  face  the  criticism  of 
even  such  men  as  Lou  and  Oscar.   Yes,  I  am 
jgoing  away;  to-morrow.  I  cannot  even  ask  you 
to  give  me  a  promise  until  I  have  something  to 

181 


O  PIONEERS! 

. 

offer  you.  I  thought,  perhaps,  I  could  do  that; 
but  I  find  I  can't." 

"What  good  comes  of  offering  people  things 
they  don't  need?"  Alexandra  asked  sadly.  "I 
don't  need  money.  But  I  have  needed  you  for  a 
great  many  years.  I  wonder  why  I  have  been 
permitted  to  prosper,  if  it  is  only  to  take  my 
friends  away  from  me." 

"I  don't  deceive  myself,"  Carl  said  frankly. 
"I  know  that  I  am  going  away  on  my  own 
account.  I  must  make  the  usual  effort.  I  must 
have  something  to  show  for  myself.  To  take 
what  you  would  give  me,  I  should  have  to  be 
either  a  very  large  man  or  a  very  small  one, 
and  I  am  only  in  the  middle  class." 

Alexandra  sighed.  "I  have  a  feeling  that  if 
you  go  away,  you  will  not  come  back.  Some 
thing  will  happen  to  one  of  us,  or  to  both. 
People  have  to  snatch  at  happiness  when  they 
can,  in  this  world.  It  is  always  easier  to  lose 
than  to  find.  What  I  have  is  yours,  if  you  care 
enough  about  me  to  take  it." 

Carl  rose  and  looked  up  at  the  picture  o: 
John  Bergson.  "But  I  can't,  my  dear,  I  can't! 
I  will  go  North  at  once.  Instead  of  idling  about : 

182 


NEIGHBORING  FIELDS 

in  California  all  winter,  I  shall  be  getting  my 
bearings  up  there.  I  won't  waste  another  week. 
Be  patient  with  me,  Alexandra.  Give  me  a 
year!" 

"As  you  will,"  said  Alexandra  wearily.  "All 
at  once,  in  a  single  day,  I  lose  everything;  and  I 
do  not  know  why.  Emil,  too,  is  going  away." 
Carl  was  still  studying  John  Bergson's  face  and 
Alexandra's  eyes  followed  his.  "Yes,"  she  said, 
"  if  he  could  have  seen  all  that  would  come  of  the 
task  he  gave  me,  he  would  have  been  sorry.  I 
hope  he  does  not  see  me  now.  I  hope  that  he  is 
among  the  old  people  of  his  blood  and  country, 
and  that  tidings  do  not  reach  him  from  the 
New  World." 


PART  III 

WINTER  MEMORIES 
I 

WINTER  has  settled  down  over  the  Divide 
again;  the  season  in  which  Nature  recuperates, 
in  which  she  sinks  to  sleep  between  the  fruitful- 
ness  of  autumn  and  the  passion  of  spring.  The 
birds  have  gone.  The  teeming  life  that  goes  on 
down  in  the  long  grass  is  exterminated.  The 
prairie-dog  keeps  his  hole.  The  rabbits  run 
shivering  from  one  frozen  garden  patch  to  an 
other  and  are  hard  put  to  it  to  find  frost-bitten 
cabbage-stalks.  At  night  the  coyotes  roam  the 
wintry  waste,  howling  for  food.  The  variegated 
fields  are  all  one  color  now;  the  pastures,  the 
stubble,  the  roads,  the  sky  are  the  same  leaden 
gray.  The  hedgerows  and  trees  are  scarcely  per 
ceptible  against  the  bare  earth,  whose  slaty  hue 
they  have  taken  on.  The  ground  is  frozen  so 
hard  that  it  bruises  the  foot  to  walk  in  the  roads 
or  in  the  ploughed  fields.  It  is  like  an  iron 
country,  and  the  spirit  is  oppressed  by  its  rigor 


O   PIONEERS! 


id  melancholy.  Onecould  easily  believe  that  in 
that  dead  landscape  the  germs  of  life  and  fruit- 
fulness  were  extinct  forever. 

Alexandra  has  settled  back  into  her  old 
routine.  There  are  weekly  letters  from  Emil. 
Lou  and  Oscar  she  has  not  seen  since  Carl 
went  away.  To  avoid  awkward  encounters  in 
the  presence  of  curious  spectators,  she  has 
stopped  going  to  the  Norwegian  Church  and 
drives  up  to  the  Reform  Church  at  Hanover, 
or  goes  with  Marie  Shabata  to  the  Catholic 
Church,  locally  known  as  "the  French  Church." 
She  has  not  told  Marie  about  Carl,  or  her  dif 
ferences  with  her  brothers.  She  was  never  very 
communicative  about  her  own  affairs,  and 
when  she  came  to  the  point,  an  instinct  told  her 
that  about  such  things  she  and  Marie  would 
not  understand  one  another. 

Old  Mrs.  Lee  had  been  afraid  that  family 
misunderstandings  might  deprive  her  of  her 
yearly  visit  to  Alexandra.  But  on  the  first  day 
of  December  Alexandra  telephoned  Annie  that 
to-morrow  she  would  send  Ivar  over  for  her 
mother,  and  the  next  day  the  old  lady  arrived 
with  her  bundles.  For  twelve  years  Mrs.  Lee 

188 


WINTER  MEMORIES 

had  always  entered  Alexandra's  sitting-room 
with  the  same  exclamation,  "Now  we  be  yust-a 
like  old  times!"  She  enjoyed  the  liberty  Alex 
andra  gave  her,  and  hearing  her  own  language 
about  her  all  day  long.  Here  she  could  wear  her 
nightcap  and  sleep  with  all  her  windows  shut, 
listen  to  Ivar  reading  the  Bible,  and  here  she 
could  run  about  among  the  stables  in  a  pair  of 
Emil's  old  boots.  Though  she  was  bent  almost 
double,  she  was  as  spry  as  a  gopher.  Her  face 
was  as  brown  as  if  it  had  been  varnished,  and  as 
full  of  wrinkles  as  a  washerwoman's  hands.  She 
had  three  jolly  old  teeth  left  in  the  front  of  her 
mouth,  and  when  she  grinned  she  looked  very 
knowing,  as  if  when  you  found  out  how  to  take 
it,  life  wTas  n't  half  bad.  While  she  and  Alex 
andra  patched  and  pieced  and  quilted,  she 
talked  incessantly  about  stories  she  read  in  a 
Swedish  family  paper,  telling  the  plots  in  great 
detail;  or  about  her  life  on  a  dairy  farm  in 
Gottland  when  she  was  a  girl.  Sometimes  she 
'  forgot  which  were  the  printed  stories  and  which 
iwere  the  real  stories,  it  all  seemed  so  far  away. 
;She  loved  to  take  a  little  brandy,  with  hot 
Iwater  and  sugar,  before  she  went  to  bed,  and 

189 


O  PIONEERS! 

Alexandra  always  had  it  ready  for  her.  "It 
sends  good  dreams,"  she  would  say  with  a 
twinkle  in  her  eye. 

When  Mrs.  Lee  had  been  with  Alexandra  for 
a  week,  Marie  Shabata  telephoned  one  morning 
to  say  that  Frank  had  gone  to  town  for  the  day, 
and  she  would  like  them  to  come  over  for  coffee 
in  the  afternoon.  Mrs.  Lee  hurried  to  wash  out 
and  iron  her  new  cross-stitched  apron,  which 
she  had  finished  only  the  night  before;  a  checked 
gingham  apron  worked  with  a  design  ten  inches 
broad  across  the  bottom;  a  hunting  scene,  with 
fir  trees  and  a  stag  and  dogs  and  huntsmen. 
Mrs.  Lee  was  firm  with  herself  at  dinner,  and 
refused  a  second  helping  of  apple  dumplings. 
"I  ta-ank  I  save  up,"  she  said  with  a  giggle. 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  Alexandra's 
cart  drove  up  to  the  Shabatas'  gate,  and  Marie 
saw  Mrs.  Lee's  red  shawl  come  bobbing  up  the 
path.  She  ran  to  the  door  and  pulled  the  old 
woman  into  the  house  with  a  hug,  helping  her 
to  take  off  her  wraps  while  Alexandra  blan 
keted  the  horse  outside.  Mrs.  Lee  had  put  on 
her  best  black  satine  dress  —  she  abominated 
woolen  stuffs,  even  in  winter  —  and  a  crocheted 

190 


WINTER  MEMORIES 

collar,  fastened  with  a  big  pale  gold  pin,  con 
taining  faded  daguerreotypes  of  her  father  and 
mother.  She  had  not  worn  her  apron  for  fear  of 
rumpling  it,  and  now  she  shook  it  out  and  tied 
it  round  her  waist  with  a  conscious  air.  Marie 
drew  back  and  threw  up  her  hands,  exclaiming, 
"Oh,  what  a  beauty!  I've  never  seen  this  one 
before,  have  I,  Mrs.  Lee?" 

The  old  woman  giggled  and  ducked  her  head. 
"No,  yust  las'  night  I  ma-ake.  See  dis  tread; 
verra  strong,  no  wa-ash  out,  no  fade.  My  sis 
ter  send  from  Sveden.  I  yust-a  ta-ank  you  like 
dis." 

Marie  ran  to  the  door  again.  "Come  in, 
Alexandra.  I  have  been  looking  at  Mrs.  Lee's 
apron.  Do  stop  on  your  way  home  and  show  it 
to  Mrs.  Hiller.  She's  crazy  about  cross-stitch." 

While  Alexandra  removed  her  hat  and  veil, 
Mrs.  Lee  went  out  to  the  kitchen  and  settled 
herself  in  a  wooden  rocking-chair  by  the  stove, 
looking  with  great  interest  at  the  table,  set  for 
three,  with  a  white  cloth,  and  a  pot  of  pink 
geraniums  in  the  middle.  "My,  a-an't  you 
gotta  fine  plants ;  such-a  much  flower.  How  you 
keep  from  freeze?" 

191 


O   PIONEERS! 

She  pointed  to  the  window-shelves,  full  of 
blooming  fuchsias  and  geraniums. 

"I  keep  the  fire  all  night,  Mrs.  Lee,  and  when 
it's  very  cold  I  put  them  all  on  the  table,  in  the 
middle  of  the  room.  Other  nights  I  only  put 
newspapers  behind  them.  Frank  laughs  at  me 
for  fussing,  but  when  they  don't  bloom  he  says, 
'What 's  the  matter  with  the  darned  things  ? '  — 
What  do  you  hear  from  Carl,  Alexandra?" 

"He  got  to  Dawson  before  the  river  froze, 
and  now  I  suppose  I  won't  hear  any  more  until 
spring.   Before  he  left  California  he  sent  me  a 
box  of  orange  flowers,  but  they  did  n't  keep  .] 
very  well.    I  have  brought  a  bunch  of  Emil's 
letters  for  you."  Alexandra  came  out  from  the 
sitting-room  and  pinched  Marie's  cheek  play-  \ 
fully.   "You  don't  look  as  if  the  weather  ever  j 
froze  you  up.    Never  have  colds,   do  you? 
That's  a  good  girl.  She  had  dark  red  cheeks  like 
this  when  she  was  a  little  girl,  Mrs.  Lee.   She 
looked  like  some  queer  foreign  kind  of  a  doll.  ; 
I've  never  forgot  the  first  time  I  saw  you  in 
Mieklejohn's  store,  Marie,  the  time  father  was  ' 
lying  sick.   Carl  and  I  were  talking  about  that  j 
before  he  went  away." 

192 


WINTER  MEMORIES 

"I  remember,  and  Emil  had  his  kitten  along. 
When  are  you  going  to  send  Emil's  Christmas 
box?" 

"  It  ought  to  have  gone  before  this.  I  '11  have 
to  send  it  by  mail  now,  to  get  it  there  in  time." 
Marie  pulled  a  dark  purple  silk  necktie  from 
her  workbasket.  "I  knit  this  for  him.  It's  a 
>ood  color,  don't  you  think?  Will  you  please 
:>ut  it  in  with  your  things  and  tell  him  it's  from 
ne,  to  wear  when  he  goes  serenading." 

Alexandra  laughed.  "  I  don't  believe  he  goes 
serenading  much.  He  says  in  one  letter  that 
:he  Mexican  ladies  are  said  to  be  very  beauti- 
:ul,  but  that  don't  seem  to  me  very  warm 


praise." 


Marie  tossed  her  head.  "Emil  can't  fool  me. 
[f  he's  bought  a  guitar,  he  goes  serenading. 
Who  wouldn't,  with  all  those  Spanish  girls 
dropping  flowers  down  from  their  windows! 
[  'd  sing  to  them  every  night,  would  n't  you, 
Mrs.  Lee?" 

The  old  lady  chuckled.  Her  eyes  lit  up  as 
Vlarie  bent  down  and  opened  the  oven  door. 
A  delicious  hot  fragrance  blew  out  into  the  tidy 
dtchen.  "My,  somet'ing  smell  good!"  She 

193 


O   PIONEERS! 

turned  to  Alexandra  with  a  wink,  her  three  yel 
low  teeth  making  a  brave  show,  "I  ta-ank  dat 
stop  my  yaw  from  ache  no  more!"  she  said  con 
tentedly. 

Marie  took  out  a  pan  of  delicate  little  rolls, 
stuffed  with  stewed  apricots,  and  began  to  dust 
them  over  with  powdered  sugar.  "  I  hope  you  '11 
like  these,  Mrs.  Lee;  Alexandra  does.  The 
Bohemians  always  like  them  with  their  coffee. 
But  if  you  don't,  I  have  a  coffee-cake  with  nuts 
and  poppy  seeds.  Alexandra,  will  you  get  the 
cream  jug?  I  put  it  in  the  window  to  keep 
cool." 

"The  Bohemians,"  said  Alexandra,  as  they 
drew  up  to  the  table,  "certainly  know  how  to 
make  more  kinds  of  bread  than  any  other  peo 
ple  in  the  world.  Old  Mrs.  Hiller  told  me  once  at 
the  church  supper  that  she  could  make  seven 
kinds  of  fancy  bread,  but  Marie  could  make  a 
dozen." 

Mrs.  Lee  held  up  one  of  the  apricot  rolls 
between  her  brown  thumb  arid  forefinger  and 
weighed  it  critically.  "Yust  like-a  fodders," 
she  pronounced  with  satisfaction.  "My,  a-an't 
dis  nice!"  she  exclaimed  as  she  stirred  her 

194 


WINTER  MEMORIES 


coffee.  "I  yust  ta-ake  a  liddle  yelly  now,  too, 
I  ta-ank." 

Alexandra  and  Marie  laughed  at  her  fore- 
handedness,  and  fell  to  talking  of  their  own 
affairs.  "I  was  afraid  you  had  a  cold  when  I 
talked  to  you  over  the  telephone  the  other 
night,  Marie.  What  was  the  matter,  had  you 
been  crying?" 

"Maybe  I  had,"  Marie  smiled  guiltily. 
"Frank  was  out  late  that  night.  Don't  you  get 
lonely  sometimes  in  the  winter,  when  every- 
Ibody  has  gone  away?" 

"I  thought  it  was  something  like  that.  If  I 
jhad  n't  had  company,  I'd  have  run  over  to  see 
for  myself.  If  you  get  down-hearted,  what  will 
become  of  the  rest  of  us?"  Alexandra  asked. 

'I   don't,   very  often.    There's  Mrs.   Lee 
(without  any  coffee!" 

Later,  when  Mrs.   Lee  declared  that  her 
jpowers  were  spent,  Marie  and  Alexandra  went 
ijupstairs  to  look  for  some  crochet  patterns  the 
1  Id  lady  wanted  to  borrow.    "Better  put  on 
rour  coat,  Alexandra.  It's  cold  up  there,  and  I 
lave  no  idea  where  those  patterns  are.   I  may 
lave  to  look  through  my  old  trunks."   Marie 
195 


O   PIONEERS! 

caught  up  a  shawl  and  opened  the  stair  door,  run 
ning  up  the  steps  ahead  of  her  guest.  "While  I 
go  through  the  bureau  drawers,  you  might  look 
in  those  hat-boxes  on  the  closet-shelf,  over 
where  Frank's  clothes  hang.  There  are  a  lot 
of  odds  and  ends  in  them." 

She  began  tossing  over  the  contents  of  the 
drawers,  and  Alexandra  went  into  the  clothes- 
closet.  Presently  she  came  back,  holding  a 
slender  elastic  yellow  stick  in  her  hand. 

"What  in  the  world  is  this,  Marie?  You 
don't  mean  to  tell  me  Frank  ever  carried  such 
a  thing?" 

Marie  blinked  at  it  with  astonishment  and 
sat  down  on  the  floor.  "Where  did  you  find  it? 
I  did  n't  know  he  had  kept  it.  I  have  n't  seen 
it  for  years." 

"It  really  is  a  cane,  then?" 

"Yes.  One  he  brought  from  the  old  coun 
try.  He  used  to  carry  it  when  I  first  knew  him. 
Is  n't  it  foolish?  Poor  Frank!" 

Alexandra  twirled  the  stick  in  her  fingers  anc 
laughed.  "He  must  have  looked  funny!" 

Marie  was  thoughtful.  "No,  he  did  n't,  really 
It  did  n't  seem  out  of  place.  He  used  to 


WINTER  MEMORIES 

awfully  gay  like  that  when  he  was  a  young 

•  man.   I  guess  people  always  get  what's  hard- 

]  est  for  them,  Alexandra."  Marie  gathered  the 

shawl  closer  about  her  and  still  looked  hard  at 

the  cane.  "  Frank  would  be  all  right  in  the  right 

place,"   she   said   reflectively.    "He  ought  to 

have  a  different  kind  of  wife,  for  one  thing.  Do 

you  know,  Alexandra,  I  could  pick  out  exactly 

-the  right  sort  of  woman  for  Frank  —  now. 

[The  trouble  is  you  almost  have  to  marry  a  man 

t  before  you  can  find  out  the  sort  of  wife   he 

I  needs;  and  usually  it's  exactly  the  sort  you  are 

I  not.  Then  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 

I  she  asked  candidly. 

Alexandra  confessed  she  did  n't  know. 
lj"However,"  she  added,  "it  seems  to  me  that 
|<you  get  along  with  Frank  about  as  well  as  any 
•'woman  I've  ever  seen  or  heard  of  could." 

Marie  shook  her  head,  pursing  her  lips  and 
slowing  her  warm  breath  softly  out  into  the 
rosty  air.  "No;  I  was  spoiled  at  home.  I  like 
my  own  way,  and  I  have  a  quick  tongue.  When 
Frank  brags,  I  say  sharp  things,  and  he  never 
forgets.  He  goes  over  and  over  it  in  his  mind; 
I  can  feel  him.  Then  I'm  too  giddy.  Frank's 

197 


O   PIONEERS! 

wife  ought  to  be  timid,  and  she  ought  not  to 
care  about  another  living  thing  in  the  world  but 
just  Frank !  I  did  n't,  when  I  married  him,  but 
I  suppose  I  was  too  young  to  stay  like  that." 
Marie  sighed. 

Alexandra  had  never  heard  Marie  speak  so 
frankly  about  her  husband  before,  and  she  felt 
that  it  was  wiser  not  to  encourage  her.  No 
good,  she  reasoned,  ever  came  from  talking 
about  such  things,  and  while  Marie  was  think 
ing  aloud,  Alexandra  had  been  steadily  search 
ing  the  hat-boxes.  "Aren't  these  the  pat 
terns,  Maria?" 

Marie   sprang  up   from   the  floor.     "Sure: 
enough,  we  were  looking  for  patterns,  were  n't 
we?    I'd  forgot  about  everything  but  Frank's 
other  wife.  I'll  put  that  away." 

She  poked  the  cane  behind  Frank's  Sunday 
clothes,  and  though  she  laughed,  Alexandra  saw 
there  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

When  they  went  back  to  the  kitchen,  the 
snow  had  begun  to  fall,  and  Marie's  visitors 
thought  they  must  be  getting  home.  She  went 
out  to  the  cart  with  them,  and  tucked  the  rob< 
about  old  Mrs.  Lee  while  Alexandra  took  th< 

198 


WINTER  MEMORIES 

blanket  off  her  horse.  As  they  drove  away, 

1  Marie  turned  and  went  slowly  back  to  the 

house.    She  took  up  the  package  of  letters 

Alexandra  had  brought,  but  she  did  not  read 

i  them.  She  turned  them  over  and  looked  at  the 

;  foreign  stamps,  and  then  sat  watching  the  fly- 

I  ing  snow  while  the  dusk  deepened  in  the  kitchen 

and  the  stove  sent  out  a  red  glow. 

Marie  knew  perfectly  well  that  Emil's  letters 
I  were  written  more  for  her  than  for  Alexandra. 
They  were  not  the  sort  of  letters  that  a  young 
man  writes  to  his  sister.  They  were  both  more 
personal  and  more  painstaking;  full  of  descrip 
tions  of  the  gay  life  in  the  old  Mexican  capital 
in  the  days  when  the  strong  hand  of  Porfirio 
Diaz  was  still  strong.  He  told  about  bull-fights 
and  cock-fights,  churches  and  fiestas,  the  flower- 
markets  and  the  fountains,  the  music  and  dan 
cing,  the  people  of  all  nations  he  met  in  the 
Italian  restaurants  on  San  Francisco  Street.  In 
short,  they  were  the  kind  of  letters  a  young  man 
writes  to  a  woman  when  he  wishes  himself  and 
his  life  to  seem  interesting  to  her,  when  he 
wishes  to  enlist  her  imagination  in  his  behalf. 
Marie,  when  she  was  alone  or  when  she  sat 
199 


O   PIONEERS! 

sewing  in  the  evening,  often  thought  about 
what  it  must  be  like  down  there  where  Emil 
was;  where  there  were  flowers  and  street  bands 
everywhere,  and  carriages  rattling  up  and 
down,  and  where  there  was  a  little  blind  boot 
black  in  front  of  the  cathedral  who  could  play 
any  tune  you  asked  for  by  dropping  the  lids 
of  blacking-boxes  on  the  stone  steps.  When 
everything  is  done  and  over  for  one  at  twenty- 
three,  it  is  pleasant  to  let  the  mind  wander 
forth  and  follow  a  young  adventurer  who  has 
life  before  him.  "And  if  it  had  not  been  for 
me,"  she  thought,  "Frank  might  still  be  free; 
like  that,  and  having  a  good  time  making  peo 
ple  admire  him.  Poor  Frank,  getting  married 
was  n't  very  good  for  him  either.  I  'm  afraid  I 
do  set  people  against  him,  as  he  says.  I  seem, 
somehow,  to  give  him  away  all  the  time.  Per 
haps  he  would  try  to  be  agreeable  to  people 
again,  if  I  were  not  around.  It  seems  as  if  I 
always  make  him  just  as  bad  as  he  can  be." 

Later  in  the  winter,  Alexandra  looked  back 
upon  that  afternoon  as  the  last  satisfactory, 
visit  she  had  had  with  Marie.  After  that  day \ 
the  younger  woman  seemed  to  shrink  more  and 

200 


WINTER  MEMORIES 

more  into  herself.  When  she  was  with  Alexan 
dra  she  was  not  spontaneous  and  frank  as  she 
used  to  be.  She  seemed  to  be  brooding  over 
something,  and  holding  something  back.  The 
weather  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  their  seeing 
less  of  each  other  than  usual.  There  had  not  been 
such  snowstorms  in  twenty  years,  and  the  path 
across  the  fields  was  drifted  deep  from  Christ 
mas  until  March.  When  the  two  neighbors  went 
to  see  each  other,  they  had  to  go  round  by  the 
wagon-road,  which  was  twice  as  far.  They  tele- 
phoned  each  other  almost  every  night,  though 

i  in  January  there  was  a  stretch  of  three  weeks 
when  the  wires  were  down,  and  when  the  post- 

!  man  did  not  come  at  all. 

Marie  often  ran  in  to  see  her  nearest  neigh- 

|  bor,  old  Mrs.  Hiller,  who  was  crippled  with 

i  rheumatism  and  had  only  her  son,  the  lame 
shoemaker,  to  take  care  of  her;  and  she  went  to 

>  the  French  Church,  whatever  the  weather.  She 

§  was  a  sincerely  devout  girl.  She  prayed  for  her 
self  and  for  Frank,  and  for  Emil,  among  the 

ij  temptations  of  that  gay,  corrupt  old  city.  She 
I  found  more  comfort  in  the  Church  that  winter 
i  than  ever  before.  It  seemed  to  come  closer  to 

201 


O   PIONEERS! 

her,  and  to  fill  an  emptiness  that  ached  in  her 
heart.  She  tried  to  be  patient  with  her  hus 
band.  He  and  his  hired  man  usually  played  Cal 
ifornia  Jack  in  the  evening.  Marie  sat  sew 
ing  or .  crocheting  and  tried  to  take  a  friendly 
interest  in  the  game,  but  she  was  always 
thinking  about  the  wide  fields  outside,  where 
the  snow  was  drifting  over  the  fences;  and 
about  the  orchard,  where  the  snow  was  falling 
and  packing,  crust  over  crust.  When  she  went 
out  into  the  dark  kitchen  to  fix  her  plants 
for  the  night,  she  used  to  stand  by  the  window 
and  look  out  at  the  white  fields,  or  watch  the 
currents  of  snow  whirling  over  the  orchard. 
She  seemed  to  feel  the  weight  of  all  the  snow 
that  lay  down  there.  The  branches  had  be 
come  so  hard  that  they  wounded  your  hand  i 
you  but  tried  to  break  a  twig.  And  yet,  down 
under  the  frozen  crusts,  at  the  roots  of  th< 
trees,  the  secret  of  life  was  still  safe,  warm 
as  the  blood  in  one's  heart;  and  the  spring 
would  come  again!  Oh,  it  would  come  again 


II 

IF  Alexandra  had  had  much  imagination  she 
might  have  guessed  what  was  going  on  in 
Marie's  mind,  and  she  would  have  seen  long 
before  what  was  going  on  in  Emil's.  But  that, 
as  Emil  himself  had  more  than  once  reflected, 
was  Alexandra's  blind  side,  and  her  life  had  not 
been  of  the  kind  to  sharpen  her  vision.  Her 
training  had  all  been  toward  the  end  of  making 
her  proficient  in  what  she  had  undertaken  to  do. 
Her  personal  life,  her  own  realization  of  herself, 
was  almost  a  subconscious  existence;  like  an 
underground  river  that  came  to  the  surface  only 
here  and  there,  at  intervals  months  apart,  and 
then  sank  again  to  flow  on  under  her  own  fields. 
Nevertheless,  the  underground  stream  was 
there,  and  it  was  because  she  had  so  much  per 
sonality  to  put  into  her  enterprises  and  suc 
ceeded  in  putting  it  into  them  so  completely, 
that  her  affairs  prospered  better  than  those  of 
her  neighbors. 

There  were  certain  days  in  her  life,  out 
wardly  uneventful,  which  Alexandra  remem- 

203 


O   PIONEERS! 

bered  as  peculiarly  happy;  days  when  she  was 
close  to  the  flat,  fallow  world  about  her,  and 
felt,  as  it  were,  in  her  own  body  the  joyous 
germination  in  the  soil.  There  were  days, 
too,  which  she  and  Emil  had  spent  together, 
upon  which  she  loved  to  look  back.  There 
had  been  such  a  day  when  they  were  down 
on  the  river  in  the  dry  year,  looking  ovef  the 
land.  TKey  had  made  an  early  start  one 
morning  and  had  driven  a  long  way  before 
noon.  When  Emil  said  he  was  hungry,  they 
drew  back  from  the  road,  gave  Brigham  his 
oats  among  the  bushes,  and  climbed  up  to  the 
top  of  a  grassy  bluff  to  eat  their  lunch  under  the 
shade  of  spine  little  elm  trees.  The  river  was 
clear  there~~and  shallow,  since  there  had  been 
no  rain,  and  it  ran  in  ripples  over  the  sparkling 
sand.  Under  the  overhanging  willows  of  the 
opposite  bank  there  was  an  inlet  where  the, 
water  was  deeper  and  flowed  so -slowly  that  it 
seemed  to  sleep  in  the  sun.  In  this  little  bay  a 
single  wild  duck  was  swimming  and  diving  and 
preening  her  feathers,  disporting  herself  very 
happily  in  the  flickering  light  and  shade.  They 
sat  for  a  long  time,  watching  the  solitary  bird 

204 


WINTER  MEMORIES 

take  its  pleasure.  No  living  thing  had  ever 
seemed  to  Alexandra  as  beautiful  as  that  wild 
duck.  Emil  must  have  felt  about  it  as  she  did, 
for  afterward,  when  they  were  at  home,  he  used 
sometimes  to  say,  "Sister,  you  know  our  duck 
down  there — "  Alexandra  remembered  that 
day  as  one  of  the  happiest  in  her  life.  Years 
afterward  she  thought  of  the  duck  as  still  there, 
swimming  and  diving  all  by  herself  in  the  sun 
light,  a  kind  of  enchanted  bird  that  did  not 
know  age  or  change. 

JVIost  °f  Alexandra's  happy  memories  were  as 

impersonal  as^this  one;  yet  to  her  they  were 

!  very  personal.    Her  mind  was  a  white  book, 

I  with  clear  writing  about  weather  and  beasts  and 

\  growing  things.  Not  many  people  would  have 

cared  to  read  it;  only  a  happy  few.    She  had 

;  never  been  in  love,  she  had  never  indulged  in 

!  sentimental  reveries.    Even  as  a  girl  she  had 

;  looked  upon  men  as  work-fellows.    She  had 

j  grown  up  in  serious  times. 

There  was  one  fancy  indeed,  which  persisted 
through  her  girlhood.  It  most  often  came  to 
jher  on  Sunday  mornings,  the  one  day  in  the 
I  week  when  she  lay  late  abed  listening  to  the 

205 


O   PIONEERS! 

familiar  morning  sounds;  the  windmill  singing 
in  the  brisk  breeze,  Emil  whistling  as  he  blacked 
his  boots  down  by  the  kitchen  door.    Some 
times,  as  she  lay  thus  luxuriously  idle,  her  eyes 
closed,  she  used  to  have  an  illusion  of  being 
lifted  up  bodily  and  carried  lightly  by  some  one 
very  strong.  It  was  a  man,  certainly,  who  car- 
,     ried  her,  but  he  was  like  no  man  she  knew;  he 
/f ••*  was  much  larger  and  stronger  and  swifter,  and 

I  Aw      tfr*?*l: 

[  ^  he  carried  her  as  easily  as  if  she  were  a  sheaf 
/    of  wheat.    She  never  saw  him,  but,  with  eyes 
I     closed,  she  could  feel  that  he  was  yellow  like  the 
/     sunlight,  and  there  was  the  smell  of  "ripe  corn- 
/      fields  about  him.  She  could  £eel  him  approach, 
bend  over  her  and  lift  her,  and  then  she  couk 
feel  herself  being  carried  swiftly  off  across  th< 
fields.  After  such  a  reverie  she  would  rise  has 
tily,  angry  with  herself,  and  go  down  to  the 
bath-house  that  was  partitioned  off  the  kitchen 
shed.  There  she  would  stand  in  a  tin  tub  anc 
prosecute  her  bath  with  vigor,  finishing  it  by 
pouring  buckets  of  cold  well-water  over  her 
gleaming  white  body  which  no  man  on  the< 
Divide  could  have  carried  very  far. 

As  she  grew  older,  this  fancy  more  often 
206 


WINTER  MEMORIES 

came  to  her  when  she  was  tired  than  when  she 
:was  fresh  and  strong.  Sometimes,  after  she  had 
ibeen  in  the  open  all  day,  overseeing  the  brand 
ing  of  the  cattle  or  the  loading  of  the  pigs,  she 
would  come  in  chilled,  take  a  concoction  of 
spices  and  warm  home-made  wine,  and  go  to  bed 
with  her  body  actually  aching  with  fatigue.^ 
Then,  just  before  she  went  to  sleep,  she  had  \ 
the  old  sensation  of  being  lifted  and  carried  by 
ja  strong  being  who  took  from  her  all  her  bodily 
weariness.  < 


PART  IV 

THE  WHITE  MULBERRY  TREE 


PART  IV 

THE  WHITE  MULBERRY  TREE 


THE  French  Church,  properly  the  Church  of 
Sainte-Agnes,  stood  upon  a  hill.  The  high,  nar 
row,  red-brick  building,  with  its  tall  steeple  and 
steep  roof,  could  be  seen  for  miles  across  the 
wheatfields,  though  the  little  town  of  Sainte- 
Agnes  was  completely  hidden  away  at  the  foot 
of  the  hill.  The  church  looked  powerful  and 
triumphant  there  on  its  eminence,  so  high  above 
the  rest  of  the  landscape,  with  miles  of  warm 
color  lying  at  its  feet,  and  by  its  position  and 
setting  it  reminded  one  of  some  of  the  churches 

I  built  long  ago  in  the  wheat-lands  of  middle 

j  France. 

Late  one  June  afternoon  Alexandra  Bergson 

I  was  driving  along  one  of  the  many  roads  that 

I  led  through  the  rich  French  farming  country  to 
the  big  church.  The  sunlight  was  shining  di 
rectly  in  her  face,  and  there  was  a  blaze  of  light 

211 


O  PIONEERS! 

all  about  the  red  church  on  the  hill.  Beside 
Alexandra  lounged  a  strikingly  exotic  figure  in  a 
tall  Mexican  hat,  a  silk  sash,  and  a  black  vel 
vet  jacket  sewn  with  silver  buttons.  Emil  had 
returned  only  the  night  before,  and  his  sister 
was  so  proud  of  him  that  she  decided  at  once 
to  take  him  up  to  the  church  supper,  and  to 
make  him  wear  the  Mexican  costume  he  had 
brought  home  in  his  trunk.  "All  the  girls  who 
have  stands  are  going  to  wear  fancy  costumes," 
she  argued,  "and  some  of  the  boys.  Marie  is 
going  to  tell  fortunes,  and  she  sent  to  Omaha 
for  a  Bohemian  dress  her  father  brought  back 
from  a  visit  to  the  old  country.  If  you  wear 
those  clothes,  they  will  all  be  pleased.  And  you 
must  take  your  guitar.  Everybody  ought  to  do 
what  they  can  to  help  along,  and  we  have  never! 
done  much.  We  are  not  a  talented  family." 

The  supper  was  to  be  at  six  o'clock,  in  thej 
basement  of  the  church,  and  afterward  therej 
would  be  a  fair,  with  charades  and  an  auction* 
Alexandra  had  set  out  from  home  early,  leaving,! 
the  house  to  Signa  and  Nelse  Jensen,  who  were  to  | 
be  married  next  week.  Signa  had  shyly  asked  to ! 
have  the  wedding  put  off  until  Emil  came  home,  j 

212 


THE  MULBERRY   TREE 

Alexandra  was  well  satisfied  with  her  brother. 
As  they  drove  through  the  rolling  French  coun 
try  toward  the  westering  sun  and  the  stalwart 
church,  she  was  thinking  of  that  time  long  ago 
when  she  and  Emil  drove  back  from  the  river 
valley  to  the  still  unconquered  Divide.  Yes, 
she  told  herself,  it  had  been  worth  while;  both 
Emil  and  the  country  had  become  what  she  had 
hoped.  Out  of  her  father's  children  there  was 
one  who  was  fit  to  cope  with  the  world,  who  had 
not  been  tied  to  the  plow,  and  who  had  a  per 
sonality  apart  from  the  soil.  And  that,  she 
reflected,  was  what  she  had  worked  for.  She 
felt  well  satisfied  with  her  life. 

When  they  reached  the  church,  a  score  of 
teams  were  hitched  in  front  of  the  basement 
doors  that  opened  from  the  hillside  upon  the 
sanded  terrace,  where  the  boys  wrestled  and  had 
jump  ing-matches.  Amedee  Chevalier,  a  proud 
father  of  one  week,  rushed  out  and  embraced 
Emil.  Amedee  was  an  only  son,  —  hence  he 
was  a  very  rich  young  man,  —  but  he  meant  to 
have  twenty  children  himself,  like  his  uncle 
Xavier.  "Oh,  Emil,"  he  cried,  hugging  his  old 
friend  rapturously,  "why  ain't  you  been  up  to 

213 


O  PIONEERS! 

see  my  boy?  You  come  to-morrow,  sure? 
Emil,  you  wanna  get  a  boy  right  off!  It's  the 
greatest  thing  ever!  No,  no,  no!  Angel  not  sick 
at  all.  Everything  just  fine.  That  boy  he  come 
into  this  world  laughin',  and  he  been  laughin' 
ever  since.  You  come  an5  see!"  He  pounded 
EmiPs  ribs  to  emphasize  each  announcement. 

Emil  caught  his  arms.  "Stop,  Amedee. 
You  're  knocking  the  wind  out  of  me.  I  brought 
him  cups  and  spoons  and  blankets  and  mocca 
sins  enough  for  an  orphan  asylum.  I'm  awful 
glad  it's  a  boy,  sure  enough!" 

The  young  men  crowded  round  Emil  toad- 
mire  his  costume  and  to  tell  him  in  a  breath 
everything  that  had  happened  since  he  went 
away.  Emil  had  more  friends  up  here  in  the 
French  country  than  down  on  Norway  Creek. 
The  French  and  Bohemian  boys  were  spirited 
and  jolly,  liked  variety,  and  were  as  much  pre 
disposed  to  favor  anything  new  as  the  Scandi 
navian  boys  were  to  reject  it.  The  Norwegian 
and  Swedish  lads  were  much  more  self-centred, , 
apt  to  be  egotistical  and  jealous.  They  were' 
cautious  and  reserved  with  Emil  because  he 
had  been  away  to  college,  and  were  prepared 

214 


\ 

THE  MULBERRY   TREE 

to  take  him  down  if  he  should  try  to  put  on 
airs  with  them.  The  French  boys  liked  a  bit 
of  swagger,  and  they  were  always  delighted  to 
hear  about  anything  new:  new.  clothes,  new 
games,  new  songs,  new  dances.  Now  they  car 
ried  Emil  off  to  show  him  the  club  room  they 
had  just  fitted  up  over  the  post-office,  down  in 
the  village.  They  ran  down  the  hill  in  a  drove, 
all  laughing  and  chattering  at  once,  some  in 
French,  some  in  English. 

Alexandra  went  into  the  cool,  whitewashed 
basement  where  the  women  were  setting  the 
tables.  Marie  was  standing  on  a  chair,  building 
a  little  tent  of  shawls  where  she  was  to  tell 
fortunes.  She  sprang  down  and  ran  toward 
Alexandra,  stopping  short  and  looking  at  her 
in  disappointment.  Alexandra  nodded  to  her 
encouragingly. 

"Oh,  he  will  be  here,  Marie.  The  boys  have 
taken  him  off  to  show  him  something.  You 
won't  know  him.  He  is  a  man  now,  sure  enough. 
I  have  no  boy  left.  He  smokes  terrible-smelling 
Mexican  cigarettes  and  talks  Spanish.  How 
pretty  you  look,  child.  Where  did  you  get  those 
beautiful  earrings?" 

215 


O   PIONEERS! 

"They  belonged  to  father's  mother.  He 
always  promised  them  to  me.  He  sent  them 
with  the  dress  and  said  I  could  keep  them." 

Marie  wore  a  short  red  skirt  of  stoutly  woven 
cloth,  a  white  bodice  and  kirtle,  a  yellow  silk 
turban  wound  low  over  her  brown  curls,  and 
long  coral  pendants  in  her  ears.  Her  ears  had 
been  pierced  against  a  piece  of  cork  by  her 
great-aunt  when  she  was  seven  years  old.  In 
those  germless  days  she  had  worn  bits  of  broom- 
straw,  plucked  from  the  common  sweeping- 
broom,  in  the  lobes  until  the  holes  were  healed 
and  ready  for  little  gold  rings. 

When  Emil  came  back  from  the  village,  he 
lingered  outside  on  the  terrace  with  the  boys. 
Marie  could  hear  him  talking  and  strumming 
on  his  guitar  while  Raoul  Marcel  sarig  falsetto. 
She  was  vexed  with  him  for  staying  out  there. 
It  made  her  very  nervous  to  hear  him  and  not 
to  see  him;  for,  certainly,  she  told  herself,  she 
was  not  going  out  to  look  for  him.  When  the 
supper  bell  rang  and  the  boys  came  trooping  in  \ 
to  get  seats  at  the  first  table,  she  forgot  all  I 
about  her  annoyance  and  ran  to  greet  the  tall 
est  of  the  crowd,  in  his  conspicuous  attire.  She 

216 


THE   MULBERRY   TREE 

did  n't  mind  showing  her  embarrassment  at  all. 
She  blushed  and  laughed  excitedly  as  she  gave 
Emil  her  hand,  and  looked  delightedly  at  the 
black  velvet  coat  that  brought  out  his  fair  skin 
and  fine  blond  head.  Marie  was  incapable  of 
being  lukewarm  about  anything  that  pleased 
her.  She  simply  did  not  know  how  to  give  a 
half-hearted  response.  When  she  was  de 
lighted,  she  was  as  likely  as  not  to  stand  on 
her  tip-toes  and  clap  her  hands.  If  people 
laughed  at  her,  she  laughed  with  them. 

"Do  the  men  wear  clothes  like  that  every 
day,  in  the  street?"  She  caught  Emil  by  his 
sleeve  and  turned  him  about.  "Oh,  I  wish  I 
lived  where  people  wore  things  like  that!  Are 
the  buttons  real  silver?  Put  on  the  hat,  please. 
What  a  heavy  thing!  How  do  you  ever  wear 
it?  Why  don't  you  tell  us  about  the  bull 
fights?" 

She  wanted  to  wring  all  his  experiences  from 
him  at  once,  without  waiting  a  moment.  Emil 
smiled  tolerantly  and  stood  looking  down  at  her 
with  his  old,  brooding  gaze,  while  the  French 
girls  fluttered  about  him  in  their  white  dresses 
and  ribbons,  and  Alexandra  watched  the  scene 

217 


O   PIONEERS! 

with  pride.  Several  of  the  French  girls,  Marie 
knew,  were  hoping  that  Emil  would  take  them 
to  supper,  and  she  was  relieved  when  he  took 
only  his  sister.  Marie  caught  Frank's  arm  and 
dragged  him  to  the  same  table,  managing  to  get 
seats  opposite  the  Bergsons,  so  that  she  could 
hear  what  they  were  talking  about.  Alexandra 
made  Emil  tell  Mrs.  Xavier  Chevalier,  the 
mother  of  the  twenty,  about  how  he  had  seen  a 
famous  matador  killed  in  the  bull-ring.  Marie 
listened  to  every  word,  only  taking  her  eyes 
from  Emil  to  watch  Frank's  plate  and  keep  it 
filled.  When  Emil  finished  his  account, — 
bloody  enough  to  satisfy  Mrs.  Xavier  and  to 
make  her  feel  thankful  that  she  was  not  a 
matador,  —  Marie  broke  out  with  a  volley  of 
questions.  How  did  the  women  dress  when 
they  went  to  bull-fights  ?  Did  they  wear  man 
tillas?  Did  they  never  wear  hats? 

After  supper  the  young  people  played  char 
ades  for  the  amusement  of  their  elders,  who  sat 
gossiping  between  their  guesses.  All  the  shops 
in  Sainte-Agnes  were  closed  at  eight  o'clock 
that  night,  so  that  the  merchants  and  their 
clerks  could  attend  the  fair.  The  auction  was 

218 


THE   MULBERRY    TREE 

the  liveliest  part  of  the  entertainment,  for  the 
French  boys  always  lost  their  heads  when  they 
began  to  bid,  satisfied  that  their  extravagance 
was  in  a  good  cause.  After  all  the  pincushions 
and  sofa  pillows  and  embroidered  slippers  were 
sold,  Emil  precipitated  a  panic  by  taking  out 
one  of  his  turquoise  shirt  studs,  which  every  one 
had  been  admiring,  and  handing  it  to  the  auc 
tioneer.  All  the  French  girls  clamored  for  it, 
and  their  sweethearts  bid  against  each  other 
recklessly.  Marie  wanted  it,  too,  and  she  kept 
making  signals  to  Frank,  which  he  took  a  sour 
pleasure  in  disregarding.  He  did  n't  see  the  use 
of  making  a  fuss  over  a  fellow  just  because  he 
was  dressed  like  a  clown.  When  the  turquoise 
went  to  Malvina  Sauvage,  the  French  banker's 
daughter,  Marie  shrugged  her  shoulders  and 
betook  herself  to  her  little  tent  of  shawls,  where 
she  began  to  shuffle  her  cards  by  the  light  of 
a  tallow  candle,  calling  out,  "Fortunes,  for 
tunes!" 

The  young  priest,  Father  Duchesne,  went 
first  to  have  his  fortune  read.  Marie  took  his 
long  white  hand,  looked  at  it,  and  then  began  to 
run  off  her  cards.  "I  see  a  long  journey  across 

219 


O   PIONEERS! 

water  for  you,  Father.  You  will  go  to  a  town 
all  cut  up  by  water;  built  on  islands,  it  seems  to 
be,  with  rivers  and  green  fields  all  about.  And 
you  will  visit  an  old  lady  with  a  white  cap  and 
gold  hoops  in  her  ears,  and  you  will  be  very 
happy  there." 

"Mais,  oui,"  said  the  priest,  with  a  melan 
choly  smile.  "C'est  L'Isle-Adam,  chez  ma 
mere.  Vous  etes  tres  savante,  ma  fille."  He 
patted  her  yellow  turban,  calling,  "Venez 
done,  mes  gargons!  II  y  a  ici  une  veritable 
clairvoyante!" 

Marie  was  clever  at  fortune-telling,  indulg 
ing  in  a  light  irony  that  amused  the  crowd.  She 
told  old  Brunot,  the  miser,  that  he  would  lose 
all  his  money,  marry  a  girl  of  sixteen,  and  live 
happily  on  a  crust.  Sholte,  the  fat  Russian 
boy,  who  lived  for  his  stomach,  was  to  be  disap 
pointed  in  love,  grow  thin,  and  shoot  himself 
from  despondency.  Amedee  was  to  have 
twenty  children,  and  nineteen  of  them  were  to 
be  girls.  Amedee  slapped  Frank  on  the  back 
and  asked  him  why  he  did  n't  see  what  the 
fortune-teller  would  promise  him.  But  Frank 
shook  off  his  friendly  hand  and  grunted,  "She 

220 


THE   MULBERRY   TREE 

tell  my  fortune  long  ago;  bad  enough!"  Then 
he  withdrew  to  a  corner  and  sat  glowering  at 
his  wife. 

Frank's  case  was  all  the  more  painful  because 
he  had  no  one  in  particular  to  fix  his  jealousy 
upon.  Sometimes  he  could  have  thanked  the 
man  who  would  bring  him  evidence  against  his 
wife.  He  had  discharged  a  good  farm-boy,  Jan 
Smirka,  because  he  thought  Marie  was  fond  of 
him;  but  she  had  not  seemed  to  miss  Jan  when 
he  was  gone,  and  she  had  been  just  as  kind  to 
the  next  boy.  The  farm-hands  would  always  do 
anything  for  Marie;  Frank  could  n't  find  one  so 
surly  that  he  would  not  make  an  effort  to  please 
her.  At  the  bottom  of  his  heart  Frank  knew 
well  enough  that  if  he  could  once  give  up  his 
grudge,  his  wife  would  come  back  to  him.  But 
he  could  never  in  the  world  do  that.  The  grudge 
was  fundamental.  Perhaps  he  could  not  have 
given  it  up  if  he  had  tried.  Perhaps  he  got  more 
satisfaction  out  of  feeling  himself  abused  than 
he  would  have  got  out  of  being  loved.  If  he 
could  once  have  made  Marie  thoroughly  un 
happy,  he  might  have  relented  and  raised  her 
from  the  dust.  But  she  had  never  humbled  her- 

221 


O  PIONEERS! 


self.  In  the  first  days  of  their  love  she  had  been 
his  slave;  she  had  admired  him  abandonedly. 
But  the  moment  he  began  to  bully  her  and  to  be 
unjust,  she  began  to  draw  away;  at  first  in  tear 
ful  amazement,  then  in  quiet,  unspoken  dis 
gust.  The  distance  between  them  had  widened 
and  hardened.  It  no  longer  contracted  and 
brought  them  suddenly  together.  The  spark  of 
her  life  went  somewhere  else,  and  he  was  always 
watching  to  surprise  it.  He  knew  that  some 
where  she  must  get  a  feeling  to  live  upon,  for 
she  was  not  a  woman  who  could  live  without 
loving.  He  wanted  to  prove  to  himself  the 
wrong  he  felt.  What  did  she  hide  in  her  heart? 
Where  did  it  go?  Even  Frank  had  his  churlish 
delicacies;  he  never  reminded  her  of  how  much 
she  had  once  loved  him.  For  that  Marie  was 
grateful  to  him. 

While  Marie  was  chattering  to  the  French 
boys,  Amedee  called  Emil  to  the  back  of  the 
room  and  whispered  to  him  that  they  were  going 
to  play  a  joke  on  the  girls.  At  eleven  o'clock, 
Amedee  was  to  go  up  to  the  switchboard  in  the 
vestibule  and  turn  off  the  electric  lights,  and 
eveiy  boy  would  have  a  chance  to  kiss  his 

222 


THE  MULBERRY   TREE 

sweetheart  before  Father  Duchesne  could  find 
his  way  up  the  stairs  to  turn  the  current  on 
again.  The  only  difficulty  was  the  candle  in 
Marie's  tent;  perhaps,  as  Emil  had  no  sweet 
heart,  he  would  oblige  the  boys  by  blowing  out 
the  candle.  Emil  said  he  would  undertake  to  do 
that. 

At  five  minutes  to  eleven  he  sauntered  up  to 
Marie's  booth,  and  the  French  boys  dispersed 
to  find  their  girls.  He  leaned  over  the  card- 
table  and  gave  himself  up  to  looking  at  her. 
"Do  you  think  you  could  tell  my  fortune?" 
he  murmured.  It  was  the  first  word  he  had 
had  alone  with  her  for  almost  a  year.  "  My 
luck  has  n't  changed  any.  It's  just  the  same." 
Marie  had  often  wondered  whether  there 
was  anyone  else  who  could  look  his  thoughts 
to  you  as  Emil  could.  To-night,  when  she  met 
his  steady,  powerful  eyes,  it  was  impossible 
not  to  feel  the  sweetness  of  the  dream  he  was 
dreaming;  it  reached  her  before  she  could  shut 
it  out,  and  hid  itself  in  her  heart.  She  began 
to  shuffle  her  cards  furiously.  "I'm  angry 
with  you,  Emil,"  she  broke  out  with  petu 
lance.  "Why  did  you  give  them  that  lovely 

223 


O   PIONEERS! 

blue  stone  to  sell?  You  might  have  known 
Frank  would  n't  buy  it  for  me,  and  I  wanted  it 
awfully!" 

Emil  laughed  shortly.  "People  who  want 
such  little  things  surely  ought  to  have  them," 
he  said  dryly.  He  thrust  his  hand  into  the 
pocket  of  his  velvet  trousers  and  brought  out  a 
handful  of  uncut  turquoises,  as  big  as  marbles. 
Leaning  over  the  table  he  dropped  them  into 
her  lap.  "There,  will  those  do?  Be  careful, 
don't  let  any  one  see  them.  Now,  I  suppose  you 
want  me  to  go  away  and  let  you  play  with 
them?" 

Marie  was  gazing  in  rapture  at  the  soft  blue 
color  of  the  stones.  "Oh,  Emil!  Is  everything 
down  there  beautiful  like  these?  How  could  you 
ever  come  away?" 

At  that  instant  Amedee  laid  hands  on  the 
switchboard.  There  was  a  shiver  and  a  giggle, 
and  every  one  looked  toward  the  red  blur  that 
Marie's  candle  made  in  the  dark.  Immediately 
that,  too,  was  gone.  Little  shrieks  and  currents 
of  soft  laughter  ran  up  and  down  the  dark  hall. 
Marie  started  up,  —  directly  into  Emil's  arms. 
In  the  same  instant  she  felt  his  lips.  The  veil 

224 


THE   MULBERRY   TREE 

that  had  hung  uncertainly  between  them  for  so 
long  was  dissolved.  Before  she  knew  what  she 
was  doing,  she  had  committed  herself  to  that 
kiss  that  was  at  once  a  boy's  and  a  man's,  as 
timid  as  it  was  tender;  so  like  Emil  and  so 
unlike  any  one  else  in  the  world.  Not  until  it 
was  over  did  she  realize  what  it  meant.  And 
Emil,  who  had  so  often  imagined  the  shock  of 
this  first  kiss,  was  surprised  at  its  gentleness 
and  naturalness.  It  was  like  a  sigh  which  they 
had  breathed  together;  almost  sorrowful,  as  if 
each  were  afraid  of  wakening  something  in  the 
other. 

When  the  lights  came  on  again,  everybody 
was  laughing  and  shouting,  and  all  the  French 
girls  were  rosy  and  shining  with  mirth.  Only 
Marie,  in  her  little  tent  of  shawls,  was  pale  and 
quiet.  Under  her  yellow  turban  the  red  coral 
pendants  swung  against  white  cheeks.  Frank 
was  still  staring  at  her,  but  he  seemed  to  see 
nothing.  Years  ago,  he  himself  had  had  the 
power  to  take  the  blood  from  her  cheeks  like 
that.  Perhaps  he  did  not  remember  —  perhaps 
he  had  never  noticed!  Emil  was  already  at  the 
other  end  of  the  hall,  walking  about  with  the 

225 


O   PIONEERS! 

shoulder-motion  he  had  acquired  among  the 
Mexicans,  studying  the  floor  with  his  intent, 
deep-set  eyes.  Marie  began  to  take  down  and 
fold  her  shawls.  She  did  not  glance  up  again. 
The  young  people  drifted  to  the  other  end  of  the 
hall  where  the  guitar  was  sounding.  In  a  mo 
ment  she  heard  Emil  and  Raoul  singing:  — 

! "  Across  the  Rio  Grand-e 
There  lies  a  sunny  land-e, 
My  bright-eyed  Mexico!" 

Alexandra  Bergson  came  up  to  the  card 
booth.  "Let  me  help  you,  Marie.  You  look 
tired." 

She  placed  her  hand  on  Marie's  arm  and  felt 
her  shiver.  Marie  stiffened  under  that  kind, 
calm  hand.  Alexandra  drew  back,  perplexed 
and  hurt. 

There  was  about  Alexandra  something  of  the 
impervious  calm  of  the  fatalist,  always  discon 
certing  to  very  young  people,  who  cannot  feel 
that  the  heart  lives  at  all  unless  it  is  still  at  the 
mercy  of  storms;  unless  its  strings  can  scream 
to  the  touch  of  pain. 


II 

SIGNA'S  wedding  supper  was  over.  The 
guests,  and  the  tiresome  little  Norwegian 
preacher  who  had  performed  the  marriage  cere 
mony,  were  saying  good-night.  Old  Ivar  was 
hitching  the  horses  to  the  wagon  to  take  the 
wedding  presents  and  the  bride  and  groom  up  to 
their  new  home,  on  Alexandra's  north  quarter. 
When  Ivar  drove  up  to  the  gate,  Emil  and 
Marie  Shabata  began  to  carry  out  the  presents, 
and  Alexandra  went  into  her  bedroom  to  bid 
Signa  good-bye  and  to  give  her  a  few  words  of 
good  counsel.  She  was  surprised  to  find  that 
the  bride  had  changed  her  slippers  for  heavy 
shoes  and  was  pinning  up  her  skirts.  At  that 
moment  Nelse  appeared  at  the  gate  with  the 
two  milk  cows  that  Alexandra  had  given  Signa 
[for  a  wedding  present. 

Alexandra  began  to  laugh.  "Why,  Signa, 
iyou  and  Nelse  are  to  ride  home.  I  '11  send  Ivar 
(over  with  the  cows  in  the  morning." 

Signa  hesitated  and  looked  perplexed.  When 
ler  husband  called  her,  she  pinned  her  hat  on 
227 


O   PIONEERS! 

resolutely.    "I  ta-ank  I  better  do  yust  like  he 
say,"  she  murmured  in  confusion. 

Alexandra  and  Marie  accompanied  Signa  to 
the  gate  and  saw  the  party  set  off,  old  Ivar 
driving  ahead  in  the  wagon  and  the  bride  and 
groom  following  on  foot,  each  leading  a  cow. 
Emil  burst  into  a  laugh  before  they  were  out  of 
hearing. 

"Those  two  will  get  on,"  said  Alexandra  as 
they  turned  back  to  the  house.  "They  are  not 
going  to  take  any  chances.  They  will  feel  safer 
with  those  cows  in  their  own  stable.  Marie,  I 
am  going  to  send  for  an  old  woman  next.  As 
soon  as  I  get  the  girls  broken  in,  I  marry  them 
off." 

"I've  no  patience  with  Signa,  marrying  that 
grumpy  fellow!"  Marie  declared.  "I  wanted 
her  to  marry  that  nice  Smirka  boy  who  worked 
for  us  last  winter.  I  think  she  liked  him,  too." 

"Yes,  I  think  she  did,"  Alexandra  assented, 
"but  I  suppose  she  was  too  much  afraid  of 
Nelse  to  marry  any  one  else.  Now  that  I  think 
of  it,  most  of  my  girls  have  married  men  they 
were  afraid  of.  I  believe  there  is  a  good  deal  of 
the  cow  in  most  Swedish  girls.  You  high-strui 

228 


THE   MULBERRY   TREE 

Bohemians  can't  understand  us.  We're  a  ter 
ribly  practical  people,  and  I  guess  we  think  a 
cross  man  makes  a  good  manager." 

Marie  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  turned  to 
pin  up  a  lock  of  hair  that  had  fallen  on  her  neck. 
Somehow  Alexandra  had  irritated  her  of  late. 
Everybody  irritated  her.  She  was  tired  of 
everybody.  "  I  'm  going  home  alone,  Emil,  so  you 
need  n't  get  your  hat,"  she  said  as  she  wound 
her  scarf  quickly  about  her  head.  "Good-night, 
Alexandra,"  she  called  back  in  a  strained  voice, 
running  down  the  gravel  walk. 

Emil  followed  with  long  strides  until  he  over 
took  her.  Then  she  began  to  walk  slowly.  It 
was  a  night  of  warm  wind  and  faint  starlight, 
and  the  fireflies  were  glimmering  over  the  wheat. 

"Marie,"  said  Emil  after  they  had  walked 
for  a  while,  "I  wonder  if  you  know  how  un 
happy  I  am?" 

Marie  did  not  answer  him.  Her  head,  in  its 
white  scarf,  drooped  forward  a  little. 

Emil  kicked  a  clod  from  the  path  and  went 
on:  — 

"I  wonder  whether  you  are  really  shallow- 
hearted,  like  you  seem?  Sometimes  I  think  one 

229 


O   PIONEERS! 

boy  does  just  as  well  as  another  for  you.  It  never 
seems  to  make  much  difference  whether  it  is  me 
or  Raoul  Marcel  or  Jan  Smirka.  Are  you  really 
like  that?" 

"Perhaps  I  am.  What  do  you  want  me  to 
do?  Sit  round  and  cry  all  day?  When  I've 
cried  until  I  can't  cry  any  more,  then  —  then  I 
must  do  something  else." 

"Are  you  sorry  for  me?"  he  persisted. 

"No,  I  'm  not.  If  I  were  big  and  free  like  you, 
I  would  n't  let  anything  make  me  unhappy.  As 
old  Napoleon  Brunot  said  at  the  fair,  I  wouldn't 
go  lovering  after  no  woman.  I'd  take  the  first 
train  and  go  off  and  have  all  the  fun  there  is." 

"I  tried  that,  but  it  didn't  do  any  good. 
Everything  reminded  me.  The  nicer  the  place 
was,  the  more  I  wanted  you."  They  had  come 
to  the  stile  and  Emil  pointed  to  it  persuasively. 
"Sit  down  a  moment,  I  want  to  ask  you  some 
thing."  Marie  sat  down  on  the  top  step  and 
Emil  drew  nearer.  "Would  you  tell  me  some 
thing  that's  none  of  my  business  if  you  thought 
it  would  help  me  out?  Well,  then,  tell  me,  please 
tell  me,  why  you  ran  away  with  Frank  Sha- 
bata!" 

230 


THE  MULBERRY   TREE 

Marie  drew  back.  "Because  I  was  in  love 
with  him,"  she  said  firmly. 

"Really?"  he  asked  incredulously. 

"Yes,  indeed.  Very  much  in  love  with  him. 
I  think  I  was  the  one  who  suggested  our  run 
ning  away.  From  the  first  it  was  more  my  fault 
than  his." 

Emil  turned  away  his  face. 

"And  now,"  Marie  went  on,  "I've  got  to 
remember  that.  Frank  is  just  the  same  now  as 
he  was  then,  only  then  I  would  see  him  as  I 
wanted  him  to  be.  I  would  have  my  own  way. 
And  now  I  pay  for  it." 

"You  don't  do  all  the  paying." 

"That's  it.  When  one  makes  a  mistake, 
there's  no  telling  where  it  will  stop.  But  you 
can  go  away;  you  can  leave  all  this  behind 
you." 

"  Not  everything.  I  can't  leave  you  behind. 
Will  you  go  away  with  me,  Marie?" 

Marie  started  up  and  stepped  across  the 
stile.  "Emil!  How  wickedly  you  talk!  I  am 
not  that  kind  of  a  girl,  and  you  know  it.  But 
what  am  I  going  to  do  if  you  keep  tormenting 
me  like  this!"  she  added  plaintively. 

231 


O   PIONEERS! 

"Marie,  I  won't  bother  you  any  more  if  you 
will  tell  me  just  one  thing.  Stop  a  minute  and 
look  at  me.  No,  nobody  can  see  us.  Every 
body's  asleep.  That  was  only  a  firefly.  Marie, 
stop  and  tell  me!" 

Emil  overtook  her  and  catching  her  by  the 
shoulders  shook  her  gently,  as  if  he  were  trying 
to  awaken  a  sleepwalker. 

Marie  hid  her  face  on  his  arm.  "Don't  ask 
me  anything  more.  I  don't  know  anything 
except  how  miserable  I  am.  And  I  thought  it 
would  be  all  right  when  you  came  back.  Oh, 
Emil,"  she  clutched  his  sleeve  and  began  to 
cry,  "what  am  I  to  do  if  you  don't  go  away?  I 
can't  go,  and  one  of  us  must.  Can't  you  see?" 

Emil  stood  looking  down  at  her,  holding  his 
shoulders  stiff  and  stiffening  the  arm  to  which 
she  clung.  Her  white  dress  looked  gray  in  the 
darkness.  She  seemed  like  a  troubled  spirit, 
like  some  shadow  out  of  the  earth,  clinging  to 
him  and  entreating  him  to  give  her  peace.  Be 
hind  her  the  fireflies  were  weaving  in  and  out 
over  the  wheat.  He  put  his  hand  on  her  bent 
head.  "On  my  honor,  Marie,  if  you  will  say 
you  love  me,  I  will  go  away." 

232 


THE  MULBERRY   TREE 

She  lifted  her  face  to  his.  "How  could  I  help 
it?  Did  n't  you  know?" 

Emil  was  the  one  who  trembled,  through  all 
his  frame.  After  he  left  Marie  at  her  gate,  he 
wandered  about  the  fields  all  night,  till  morning 
put  out  the  fireflies  and  the  stars. 


Ill 

ONE  evening,  a  week  after  Signa's  wedding, 
Emil  was  kneeling  before  a  box  in  the  sitting- 
room,  packing  his  books.  From  time  to  time  he 
rose  and  wandered  about  the  house,  picking  up 
stray  volumes  and  bringing  them  listlessly  back 
to  his  box.  He  was  packing  without  enthusi 
asm.  He  was  not  very  sanguine  about  his  fu 
ture.  Alexandra  sat  sewing  by  the  table.  She 
had  helped  him  pack  his  trunk  in  the  afternoon. 
As  Emil  came  and  went  by  her  chair  with  his 
books,  he  thought  to  himself  that  it  had  not 
been  so  hard  to  leave  his  sister  since  he  first 
went  away  to  school.  He  was  going  directly  to 
Omaha,  to  read  law  in  the  office  of  a  Swedish 
lawyer  until  October,  when  he  would  enter  the 
law  school  at  Ann  Arbor.  They  had  planned 
that  Alexandra  was  to  come  to  Michigan  —  a 
long  journey  for  her  —  at  Christmas  time,  and 
spend  several  weeks  with  him.  Nevertheless,  he 
felt  that  this  leavetaking  would  be  more  final 
than  his  earlier  ones  had  been ;  that  it  meant  a 
definite  break  with  his  old  home  and  the  begin- 

234 


THE- MULBERRY   TREE 

ning  of  something  new  —  he  did  not  know 
what.  His  ideas  about  the  future  would  not 
crystallize;  the  more  he  tried  to  think  about  it, 
the  vaguer  his  conception  of  it  became.  But 
one  thing  was  clear,  he  told  himself;  it  was 
high  time  that  he  made  good  to  Alexandra, 
and  that  ought  to  be  incentive  enough  to  begin 
with. 

As  he  went  about  gathering  up  his  books  he 
felt  as  if  he  were  uprooting  things.  At  last  he 
threw  himself  down  on  the  old  slat  lounge  where 
he  had  slept  when  he  was  little,  and  lay  looking 
up  at  the  familiar  cracks  in  the  ceiling. 

"Tired,  Emil?"  his  sister  asked. 

"Lazy,"  he  murmured,  turning  on  his  side 
and  looking  at  her.  He  studied  Alexandra's 
face  for  a  long  time  in  the  lamplight.  It  had 
never  occurred  to  him  that  his  sister  was  a 
handsome  woman  until  Marie  Shabata  had 
told  him  so.  Indeed,  he  had  never  thought  of 
her  as  being  a  woman  at  all,  only  a  sister.  As 
he  studied  her  bent  head,  he  looked  up  at  the 
picture  of  John  Bergson  above  the  lamp. 
"No,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "she  did  n't  get 
it  there.  I  suppose  I  am  more  like  that." 

235 


O   PIONEERS! 

"Alexandra,"  he  said  suddenly,  "that  old 
walnut  secretary  you  use  for  a  desk  was 
father's,  wasn't  it?" 

Alexandra  went  on  stitching.  "Yes.  It  was 
one  of  the  first  things  he  bought  for  the  old  log 
house.  It  was  a  great  extravagance  in  those 
days.  But  he  wrote  a  great  many  letters  back 
to  the  old  country.  He  had  many  friends  there, 
and  they  wrote  to  him  up  to  the  time  he  died. 
No  one  ever  blamed  him  for  grandfather's  dis 
grace.  I  can  see  him  now,  sitting  there  on  Sun 
days,  in  his  white  shirt,  writing  pages  and 
pages,  so  carefully.  He  wrote  a  fine,  regular 
hand,  almost  like  engraving.  Yours  is  some 
thing  like  his,  when  you  take  pains." 

"Grandfather  was  really  crooked,  was  he?" 

"He  married  an  unscrupulous  woman,  and 
then  —  then  I  'm  afraid  he  was  really  crooked. 
When  we  first  came  here  father  used  to  have 
dreams  about  making  a  great  fortune  and  going 
back  to  Sweden  to  pay  back  to  the  poor  sailors 
the  money  grandfather  had  lost." 

Emil  stirred  on  the  lounge.  "I  say,  that 
would  have  been  worth  while,  wouldn't  it? 
Father  was  n't  a  bit  like  Lou  or  Oscar,  was  he? 

236 


THE   MULBERRY   TREE 

I  can't  remember  much  about  him  before  he 
got  sick." 

"Oh,  not  at  all!"  Alexandra  dropped  her 
sewing  on  her  knee.  "He  had  better  opportuni 
ties;  not  to  make  money,  but  to  make  some 
thing  of  himself.  He  was  a  quiet  man, -but  he 
was  very  intelligent.  You  would  have  been 
proud  of  him,  Emil." 

Alexandra  felt  that  he  would  like  to  know 
there  had  been  a  man  of  his  kin  whom  he 
could  admire.  She  knew  that  Emil  was  ashamed 
of  Lou  and  Oscar,  because  they  were  bigoted 
and  self-satisfied.  He  never  said  much  about 
i  them,  but  she  could  feel  his  disgust.  His 
|  brothers  had  shown  their  disapproval  of  him 
ever  since  he  first  went  away  to  school.  The 
only  thing  that  would  have  satisfied  them 
would  have  been  his  failure  at  the  University. 
As  it  was,  they  resented  every  change  in  his 
speech,  in  his  dress,  in  his  point  of  view;  though 
the  latter  they  had  to  conjecture,  for  Emil 
avoided  talking  to  them  about  any  but  family 
matters.  AU^ij_jr^terestS^~lbey  treated  as 
affectations. 

Alexandra  took  up  her  sewing  again.  "I  can 
237 


O   PIONEERS! 

remember  father  when  he  was  quite  a  young 
man.  He  belonged  to  some  kind  of  a  musical 
society,  a  male  chorus,  in  Stockholm.  I  can 
remember  going  with  mother  to  hear  them  sing. 
There  must  have  been  a  hundred  of  them,  and 
they  all  wore  long  black  coats  and  white  neck 
ties.  I  was  used  to  seeing  father  in  a  blue  coat, 
a  sort  of  jacket,  and  when  I  recognized  him 
on  the  platform,  I  was  very  proud.  Do  you 
remember  that  Swedish  song  he  taught  you, 
about  the  ship  boy?" 

"Yes.  I  used  to  sing  it  to  the  Mexicans. 
They  like  anything  different."  Emil  paused. 
"Father  had  a  hard  fight  here,  didn't  he?"  he 
added  thoughtfully. 

"Yes,  and  he  died  in  a  dark  time.  Still,  he 
had  hope.  He  believed  in  the  land." 

"And  in  you,  I  guess,"  Emil  said  to  himself. 
There  was  another  period  of  silence;  that  warm, 
friendly  silence,  full  of  perfect  understanding, 
in  which  Emil  and  Alexandra  had  spent  many 
of  their  happiest  half-hours. 

At  last  Emil  said  abruptly,  "Lou  and  Oscar 
would  be  better  off  if  they  were  poor,  would  n't 
they?" 

238 


THE  MULBERRY   TREE 


O   PIONEERS! 

over,  and  that  he  would  soon  be  settled  i] 
life. 

"Alexandra,"  said  Emil  suddenly,  "do  you 
remember  the  wild  duck  we  saw  down  on  the 
river  that  time?" 

His  sister  looked  up.  "I  often  think  of  her, 
It  always  seems  to  me  she's  there  still,  just  like 
we  saw  her." 

"I  know.  It's  queer  what  things  one  re 
members  and  what  things  one  forgets."  Emil 
yawned  and  sat  up.  "Well,  it's  time  to  turn 
in."  He  rose,  and  going  over  to  Alexandra 
stooped  down  and  kissed  her  lightly  on  the 
cheek.  "Good-night,  sister.  I  think  you  did 
pretty  well  by  us." 

Emil  took  up  his  lamp  and  went  upstairs, 
Alexandra  sat  finishing  his  new  nightshirt,  that! 
must  go  in  the  top  tray  of  his  trunk. 


IV 

THE  next  morning  Angelique,  Amedee's 
wife,  was  in  the  kitchen  baking  pies,  assisted  by 
old  Mrs.  Chevalier.  Between  the  mixing-board 
and  the  stove  stood  the  old  cradle  that  had  been 
Amedee's,  and  in  it  was  his  black-eyed  son.  As 
Angelique,  flushed  and  excited,  with  flour  on 
her  hands,  stopped  to  smile  at  the  baby,  Emil 
Bergson  rode  up  to  the  kitchen  door  on  his  mare 
and  dismounted. 

"'Medee  is  out  in  the  field,  Emil,"  Angelique 
called  as  she  ran  across  the  kitchen  to  the  oven. 
"He  begins  to  cut  his  wheat  to-day;  the  first 
wheat  ready  to  cut  anywhere  about  here.  He 
bought  a  new  header,  you  know,  because  all  the 
wheat's  so  short  this  year.  I  hope  he  can  rent  it 
to  the  neighbors,  it  cost  so  much.  He  and  his 
cousins  bought  a  steam  thresher  on  shares.  You 
'ought  to  go  out  and  see  that  header  work.  I 
;!  watched  it  an  hour  this  morning,  busy  as  I  am 
iwith  all  the  men  to  feed.  He  has  a  lot  of  hands, 
jbut  he's  the  only  one  that  knows  how  to  drive 
-the  header  or  how  to  run  the  engine,  so  he  has 

241 


O   PIONEERS! 

to  be  everywhere  at  once.  He's  sick,  too,  anc 
ought  to  be  in  his  bed." 

Emil  bent  over  Hector  Baptiste,  trying  tc 
make  him  blink  his  round,  bead-like  black  eyes 
"Sick?  What's  the  matter  with  your  daddy 
kid?  Been  making  him  walk  the  floor  witr. 
you?" 

Angelique  sniffed.    "Not  much!    We  don'1' 
have  that  kind  of  babies.  It  was  his  father  thai 
kept  Baptiste  awake.  All  night  I  had  to  be  get 
ting  up  and  making  mustard  plasters  to  put  oni 
his  stomach.  He  had  an  awful  colic.  He  said  he 
felt  better  this  morning,  but  I  don't  think  h 
ought  to  be  out  in  the  field,  overheating  him 
self." 

Angelique  did  not  speak  with  much  anxiety 
not  because  she  was  indifferent,  but  because  sh 
felt  so  secure  in  their  good  fortune.  Only  gooc 
things  could  happen  to  a  rich,  energetic,  hand 
some  young  man  like  Amedee,  with  a  new  bab) 
in  the  cradle  and  a  new  header  in  the  field. 

Emil  stroked  the  black  fuzz  on  Baptiste' 
head.  "I  say,  Angelique,  one  of  'Medee's  grand 
mothers,  'way  back,  must  have  been  a  squaw. 
This  kid  looks  exactly  like  the  Indian  babies." 

242 


THE  MULBERRY   TREE 

Angelique  made  a  face  at  him,  but  old  Mrs. 
Chevalier  had  been  touched  on  a  sore  point, 
and  she  let  out  such  a  stream  of  fiery  patois  that 
Emil  fled  from  the  kitchen  and  mounted  his 
mare. 

Opening  the  pasture  gate  from  the  saddle, 
Emil  rode  across  the  field  to  the  clearing  where 
the  thresher  stood,  driven  by  a  stationary 
bngine  and  fed  from  the  header  boxes.  As 
Amedee  was  not  on  the  engine,  Emil  rode  on  to 
the  wheatfield,  where  he  recognized,  on  the 
header,  the  slight,  wiry  figure  of  his  friend, 
coatless,  his  white  shirt  puffed  out  by  the  wind, 
his  straw  hat  stuck  jauntily  on  the  side  of  his 
head.  The  six  big  work-horses  that  drew,  or 
rather  pushed,  the  header,  went  abreast  at  a 
rapid  walk,  and  as  they  were  still  green  at  the 
|work  they  required  a  good  deal  of  management 
lion  Amedee's  part;  especially  when  they  turned 
the  corners,  where  they  divided,  three  and 
Ithree,  and  then  swung  round  into  line  again 
;  jwith  a  movement  that  looked  as  complicated  as 

wheel  of  artillery.  Emil  felt  a  new  thrill  of 
dmiration  for  his  friend,  and  with  it  the  old 
ang  of  envy  at  the  way  in  which  Amedee  could 
243 


O   PIONEERS! 

do  with  his  might  what  his  hand  found  to  do, 
and  feel  that,  whatever  it  was,  it  was  the  most 
important  thing  in  the  world.  "I'll  have  to 
bring  Alexandra  up  to  see  this  thing  work," 
Emil  thought;  "it's  splendid!" 

When  he  saw  Emil,  Amedee  waved  to  him 
and  called  to  one  of  his  twenty  cousins  to  take 
the  reins.  Stepping  off  the  header  without 
stopping  it,  he  ran  up  to  Emil  who  had  dis 
mounted.  "Come  along,"  he  called.  "I  have 
to  go  over  to  the  engine  for  a  minute.  I  gotta 
green  man  running  it,  and  I  gotta  to  keep  an 
eye  on  him." 

Emil  thought  the  lad  was  unnaturally  flushed ' 
and  more  excited  than  even  the  cares  of  manag 
ing  a  big  farm  at  a  critical  time  warranted.  As 
they  passed  behind  a  last  year's  stack,  Amedee 
clutched  at  his  right  side  and  sank  down  for  ai 
moment  on  the  straw. 

"Ouch!  I  got  an  awful  pain  in  me,  Emil. 
Something's  the  matter  with  my  insides,  for 


sure." 


Emil  felt  his  fiery  cheek.  "You  ought  to  go 
straight  to  bed,  'Medee,  and  telephone  for  the 
doctor;  that's  what  you  ought  to  do." 

244 


THE   MULBERRY   TREE 

Amedee  staggered  up  with  a  gesture  of 
despair.  "How  can  I  ?  I  got  no  time  to  be  sick. 
Three  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  new  machin 
ery  to  manage,  and  the  wheat  so  ripe  it  will 
begin  to  shatter  next  week.  My  wheat 's  short, 
but  it's  gotta  grand  full  berries.  What's  he 
slowing  down  for?  We  haven't  got  header 
boxes  enough  to  feed  the  thresher,  I  guess." 

Amedee  started  hot-foot  across  the  stubble, 
leaning  a  little  to  the  right  as  he  ran,  and  waved 
to  the  engineer  not  to  stop  the  engine. 

Emil  saw  that  this  was  no  time  to  talk  about 
his  own  affairs.  He  mounted  his  mare  and  rode 
on  to  Sainte-Agnes,  to  bid  his  friends  there 
good-bye.  He  went  first  to  see  Raoul  Marcel, 
and  found  him  innocently  practising  the 
"Gloria"  for  the  big  confirmation  service  on 
Sunday  while  he  polished  the  mirrors  of  his 
father's  saloon. 

As  Emil  rode  homewards  at  three  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon,  he  saw  Amedee  staggering  out  of 
the  wheatfield,  supported  by  two  of  his  cousins. 
Emil  stopped  and  helped  them  put  the  boy  to 
bed. 


WHEN  Frank  Shabata  came  in  from  work  at 
five  o'clock  that  evening,  old  Moses  Marcel, 
RaouPs  father,  telephoned  him  that;  Amedee 
had  had  a  seizure  in  the  wheatfield,  and  that 
Doctor  Paradis  was  going  to  operate  on  him  as 
soon  as  the  Hanover  doctor  got  there  to  help. 
Frank  dropped  a  word  of  this  at  the  table, 
bolted  his  supper,  and  rode  off  to  Sainte- 
Agnes,  where  there  would  be  sympathetic  dis 
cussion  of  Amedee's  case  at  Marcel's  saloon. 

As  soon  as  Frank  was  gone,  Marie  telephoned 
Alexandra.  It  was  a  comfort  to  hear  her  friend's 
voice.  Yes,  Alexandra  knew  what  there  was  to 
be  known  about  Amedee.  Emil  had  been  there 
when  they  carried  him  out  of  the  field,  and  had 
stayed  with  him  until  the  doctors  operated  for 
appendicitis  at  five  o'clock.  They  were  afraid 
it  was  too  late  to  do  much  good;  it  should 
have  been  done  three  days  ago.  Amedee  was  in 
a  very  bad  way.  Emil  had  just  come  home, 
worn  out  and  sick  himself.  She  had  given  him 
some  brandy  and  put  him  to  bed. 

246 


THE  MULBERRY   TREE 

Marie  hung  up  the  receiver.  Poor  Amedee's 
illness  had  taken  on  a  new  meaning  to  her,  now 
that  she  knew  Emil  had  been  with  him.  And  it 
might  so  easily  have  been  the  other  way  — 
Emil  who  was  ill  and  Amedee  who  was  sad! 
Marie  looked  about  the  dusky  sitting-room. 
She  had  seldom  felt  so  utterly  lonely.  If  Emil 
was  asleep,  there  was  not  even  a  chance  of  his 
coming;  and  she  could  not  go  to  Alexandra  for 
sympathy.  She  meant  to  tell  Alexandra  every 
thing,  as  soon  as  Emil  went  away.  Then  what 
ever  was  left  between  them  would  be  honest. 

But  she  could  not  stay  in  the  house  this  / 
evening.  Where  should  she  go?  She  walked 
slowly  down  through  the  orchard,  where  the 
evening  air  was  heavy  with  the  smell  of  wild 
cotton.  The  fresh,  salty  scent  of  the  wild  roses 
had  given  way  before  this  more  powerful  per 
fume  of  midsummer.  Wherever  those  ashes-of- 
rose  balls  hung  on  their  milky  stalks,  the  air 
about  them  was  saturated  with  their  breath. 
The  sky  was  still  red  in  the  west  and  the  even 
ing  star  hung  directly  over  the  Bergsons'  wind-  \ 
mill.  Marie  crossed  the  fence  at  the  wheatfield 
corner,  and  walked  slowly  along  the  path  that 

247 


O   PIONEERS! 

led  to  Alexandra's.  She  could  not  help  feeling 
hurt  that  Emil  had  not  come  to  tell  her  about 
Amedee.  It  seemed  to  her  most  unnatural  that 
he  should  not  have  come.  If  she  were  in  trou 
ble,  certainly  he  was  the  one  person  in  the  world 
she  would  want  to  see.  Perhaps  he  wished  her 
to  understand  that  for  her  he  was  as  good  as 
gone  already. 

Marie  stole  slowly,  flutteringly,  along  the 
path,  like  a  white  night-moth  out  of  the  fields. 
The  years  seemed  to  stretch  before  her  like  the 
land;  spring,  summer,  autumn,  winter,  spring; 
always  the  same  patient  fields,  the  patient  little 
trees,  the  patient  lives;  always  the  same  yearn 
ing,  the  same  pulling  at  the  chain  —  until  the 
instinct  to  live  had  torn  itself  and  bled  and 
weakened  for  the  last  time,  until  the  chain 
secured  a  dead  woman,  who  might  cautiously 
be  released.  Marie  walked  on,  her  face  lifted 
toward  the  remote,  inaccessible  evening  star. 

When  she  reached  the  stile  she  sat  down  and 
waited.  How  terrible  it  was  to  love  people  when 
you  could  not  really  share  their  lives! 

Yes,  in  so  far  as  she  was  concerned,  Emil  was 
already  gone.  They  could  n't  meet  any  more. 

248 


THE  MULBERRY   TREE 

There  was  nothing  for  them  to  say.  They  had 
spent  the  last  penny  of  their  small  change; 
there  was  nothing  left  but  gold.  The  day  of 
love-tokens  was  past.  They  had  now  only  their 
hearts  to  give  each  other.  And  Emil  being 
gone,  what  was  her  life  to  be  like?  In  some 
ways,  it  would  be  easier.  She  would  not,  at 
least,  live  in  perpetual  fear.  If  Emil  were  once 
away  and  settled  at  work,  she  would  not  have 
the  feeling  that  she  was  spoiling  his  life.  With 
the  memory  he  left  her,  she  could  be  as  rash  as 
she  chose.  Nobody  could  be  the  worse  for  it 
but  herself;  and  that,  surely,  did  not  matter. 
Her  own  case  was  clear.  When  a  girl  had  loved 
one  man,  and  then  loved  another  while  that  man 
was  still  alive,  everybody  knew  what  to  think  of 
her.  What  happened  to  her  was  of  little  con 
sequence,  so  long  as  she  did  not  drag  other 
people  down  with  her.  Emil  once  away,  she 
could  let  everything  else  go  and  live  a  new  life 
of  perfect  love. 

Marie  left  the  stile  reluctantly.  She  had, 
after  all,  thought  he  might  come.  And  how 
glad  she  ought  to  be,  she  told  herself,  that  he 
was  asleep.  She  left  the  path  and  went  across 

249 


O   PIONEERS! 

the  pasture.  The  moon  was  almost  full.  An 
owl  was  hooting  somewhere  in  the  fields.  She 
had  scarcely  thought  about  where  she  was 
going  when  the  pond  glittered  before  her, 
where  Emil  had  shot  the  ducks.  She  stopped 
and  looked  at  it.  Yes,  there  would  be  a  dirty 
way  out  of  life,  if  one  chose  to  take  it.  But  she 
did  not  want  to  die.  She  wanted  to  live  and 
dream  —  a  hundred  years,  forever!  As  long  as 
this  sweetness  welled  up  in  her  heart,  as  long  as 
her  breast  could  hold  this  treasure  of  pain !  She 
felt  as  the  poncTmusTfeel  when  it  held  the  moon 
like  that;  when  it  encircled  and  swelled  with 
that  image  of  gold. 

. 

In  the  morning,  when  Emil  came  down 
stairs,  Alexandra  met  him  in  the  sitting-room 
and  put  her  hands  on  his  shoulders.  "Emil,  I 
went  to  your  room  as  soon  as  it  was  light,  but 
you  were  sleeping  so  sound  I  hated  to  wake 
you.  There  was  nothing  you  could  do,  so  I 
let  you  sleep.  They  telephoned  from  Sainte- 
Agnes  that  Amedee  died  at  three  o'clock  this 
morning." 


VI 

THE  Church  has  always  held  that  life  is  for 
the  living.  On  Saturday,  while  half  the  vil 
lage  of  Sainte-Agnes  was  mourning  for  Ame- 
dee  and  preparing  the  funeral  black  for  his 
burial  on  Monday,  the  other  half  was  busy 
with  white  dresses  and  white  veils  for  the  great 
confirmation  service  to-morrow,  when  the 
bishop  was  to  confirm  a  class  of  one  hundred 
boys  and  girls.  Father  Duchesne  divided  his 
time  between  the  living  and  the  dead.  All  day 
Saturday  the  church  was  a  scene  of  bustling 
activity,  a  little  hushed  by  the  thought  of 
Amedee.  The  choir  were  busy  rehearsing  a 
mass  of  Rossini,  which  they  had  studied  and 
practised  for  this  occasion.  The  women  were 
trimming  the  altar,  the  boys  and  girls  were 
bringing  flowers. 

On  Sunday  morning  the  bishop  was  to  drive 
overland  to  Sainte-Agnes  from  Hanover,  and 
Emil  Bergson  had  been  asked  to  take  the  place 
of  one  of  Amedee's  cousins  in  the  cavalcade  of 
forty  French  boys  who  were  to  ride  across  coun- 

251 


O  PIONEERS! 

try  to  meet  the  bishop's  carriage.  At  six  o'clock 
on  Sunday  morning  the  boys  met  at  the  church. 
As  they  stood  holding  their  horses  by  the  bridle, 
they  talked  in  low  tones  of  their  dead  comrade. 
They  kept  repeating  that  Amedee  had  always 
been  a  good  boy,  glancing  toward  the  red  brick 
church  which  had  played  so  large  a  part  in 
Amedee's  life,  had  been  the  scene  of  his  most 
serious  moments  and  of  his  happiest  hours.  He 
had  played  and  wrestled  and  sung  and  courted 
under  its  shadow.  Only  three  weeks  ago  he  had 
proudly  carried  his  baby  there  to  be  christened. 
They  could  not  doubt  that  that  invisible  arm 
was  still  about  Amedee;  that  through  the  church 
on  earth  he  had  passed  to  the  church  triumph 
ant,  the  goal  of  the  hopes  and  faith  of  so  many 
hundred  years. 

When  the  word  was,  given  to  mount,  the 
young  men  rode  at  a  walk  out  of  the  village; 
but  once  out  among  the  wheatfields  in  the 
morning  sun,  their  horses  and  their  own  youth 
got  the  better  of  them.  A  wave  of  zeal  and  fiery 
enthusiasm  swept  over  them.  They  longed  for 
a  Jerusalem  to  deliver.  The  thud  of  their  gal 
loping  hoofs  interrupted  many  a  country  break- 

252 


THE  MULBERRY   TREE 

fast  and  brought  many  a  woman  and  child  to 
the  door  of  the  farmhouses  as  they  passed.  Five 
miles  east  of  Sainte-Agnes  they  met  the  bishop 
in  his  open  carriage,  attended  by  two  priests. 
Like  one  man  the  boys  swung  off  their  hats  in  a 
broad  salute,  and  bowed  their  heads  as  the 
handsome  old  man  lifted  his  two  fingers  in  the 
episcopal  blessing.  The  horsemen  closed  about 
the  carriage  like  a  guard,  and  whenever  a  rest 
less  horse  broke  from  control  and  shot  down  the 
road  ahead  of  the  body,  the  bishop  laughed  and 
rubbed  his  plump  hands  together.  "What  fine 
boys ! "  he  said  to  his  priests.  "The  Church  still 
has  her  cavalry." 

As  the  troop  swept  past  the  graveyard  half  a 
mile  east  of  the  town,  —  the  first  frame  church 
of  the  parish  had  stood  there,  —  old  Pierre 
Seguin  was  already  out  with  his  pick  and  spade, 
digging  Amedee's  grave.  He  knelt  and  un 
covered  as  the  bishop  passed.  The  boys  with 
one  accord  looked  away  from  old  Pierre  to  the 
red  church  on  the  hill,  with  the  gold  cross 
flaming  on  its  steeple. 

Mass  was  at  eleven.  While  the  church  was 
filling,  Emil  Bergson  waited  outside,  watching 

253 


O   PIONEERS! 

the  wagons  and  buggies  drive  up  the  hill.  After 
the  bell  began  to  ring,  he  saw  Frank  Shabata 
ride  up  on  horseback  and  tie  his  horse  to  the 
hitch-bar.  Marie,  then,  was  not  coming.  Emil 
turned  and  went  into  the  church.  Amedee's 
was  the  only  empty  pew,  and  he  sat  down  in  it. 
Some  of  Amedee's  cousins  were  there,  dressed 
in  black  and  weeping.  When  all  the  pews  were 
full,  the  old  men  and  boys  packed  the  open 
space  at  the  back  of  the  church,  kneeling  on  the 
floor.  There  was  scarcely  a  family  in  town  that 
was  not  represented  in  the  confirmation  class, 
by  a  cousin,  at  least.  The  new  communicants, 
with  their  clear,  reverent  faces,  were  beautiful 
to  look  upon  as  they  entered  in  a  body  and  took 
the  front  benches  reserved  for  them.  Even 
before  the  Mass  began,  the  air  was  charged 
with  feeling.  The  choir  had  never  sung  so  well 
and  Raoul  Marcel,  in  the  "Gloria,"  drew  even 
the  bishop's  eyes  to  the  organ  loft.  For  the 
offertory  he  sang  Gounod's  "Ave  Maria,"  — 
always  spoken  of  in  Sainte-Agnes  as  "the  Ave 
Maria." 

Emil  began  to  torture  himself  with  questions 
about  Marie.    Was  she  ill?  Had  she  quarreled 

254 


THE  MULBERRY   TREE 

with  her  husband?  Was  she  too  unhappy  to 
find  comfort  even  here?  Had  she,  perhaps, 
thought  that  he  would  come  to  her?  Was  she 
waiting  for  him  ?  Overtaxed  by  excitement  and 
sorrow  as  he  was,  the  rapture  of  the  service  took 
hold  upon  his  body  and  mind.  As  he  listened 
to  Raoul,  he  seemed  to  emerge  from  the  con 
flicting  emotions  which  had  been  whirling  4iim 
about  and  sucking  him  under.  He  felt  as  if 
a  clear  light  broke  upon  his  mind,  and  with  it 
a  conviction  that  good  was,  after  all,  stronger 
than  evil,  and  that  good  was  possible  to  men. 
He  seemed  to  discover  that  there  was  a  kind 
of  rapture  in  which  he  could  love  forever  with 
out  faltering  and  without  sin.  He  looked  across 
the  heads  of  the  people  at  Frank  Shabata 
with  calmness.  That  rapture  was  for  those  who 
could  feel  it;  for  people  who  could  not,  it 
was  non-existent.  He  coveted  nothing  that  was 
Frank  Shabata's.  The  spirit  he  had  met  in 
music  was  his  own.  Frank  Shabata  had  never 
found  it;  would  never  find  it  if  he  lived  beside  it 
a  thousand  years;  would  have  destroyed  it  if  he 
had  found  it,  as  Herod  slew  the  innocents,  as 
Rome  slew  the  martyrs. 

255 


• 

O   PIONEERS! 

San — eta  Mari-i-i-a, 
wailed  Raoul  from  the  organ  loft; 

0  —  ra  pro  no-o-bis  ! 

And  it  did  not  occur  to  Emil  that  any  one  had 
ever  reasoned  thus  before,  that  music  had  ever 
before  given  a  man  this  equivocal  revelation. 
The  confirmation  service  followed  the  Mass. 
When  it  was  over,  the  congregation  thronged 
about  the  newly  confirmed.  The  girls,  and  even 
the  boys,  were  kissed  and  embraced  and  wept 
over.  All  the  aunts  and  grandmothers  wept 
with  joy.  The  housewives  had  much  ado  to 
tear  themselves  away  from  the  general  rejoicing 
and  hurry  back  to  their  kitchens.  The  country 
parishioners  were  staying  in  town  for  dinner, 
and  nearly  every  house  in  Sainte-Agnes  enter 
tained  visitors  that  day.  Father  Duchesne,  the 
bishop,  and  the  visiting  priests  dined  with 
Fabien  Sauvage,  the  banker.  Emil  and  Frank 
Shabata  were  both  guests  of  old  Moi'se  Marcel. 
After  dinner  Frank  and  old  Moi'se  retired  to 
the  rear  room  of  the  saloon  to  play  California 
Jack  and  drink  their  cognac,  and  Emil  went 
over  to  the  banker's  with  Raoul,  who  had  been 
asked  to  sing  for  the  bishop. 

256 


THE  MULBERRY   TREE 

At  three  o'clock,  Emil  felt  that  he  could 
stand  it  no  longer.  He  slipped  out  under  cover 
of  "The  Holy  City,"  followed  by  Malvina's 
wistful  eye,  and  went  to  the  stable  for  his  mare. 
He  was  at  that  height  of  excitement  from  which 
everything  is  foreshortened,  from  which  life 
seems  short  and  simple,  death  very  near,  and 
the  soul  seems  to  soar  like  an  eagle.  As  he  rode 
past  the  graveyard  he  looked  at  the  brown  hole 
in  the  earth  where  Amedee  was  to  lie,  and  felt  no 
horror.  That,  too,  was  beautiful,  that  simple 
doorway  into  forgetfulness.  The  heart,  when  it 
is  too  much  alive,  aches  for  that  brown  earth, 
and  ecstasy  has  no  fear  of  death.  It  is  the  old 
and  the  poor  and  the  maimed  who  shrink  from 
that  brown  hole;  its  wooers  are  found  among 
the  young,  the  passionate,  the  gallant-hearted. 
It  was  not  until  he  had  passed  the  graveyard 
that  Emil  realized  where  he  was  going.  It  was 
the  hour  for  saying  good-bye.  It  might  be  the 
last  time  that  he  would  see  her  alone,  and  to 
day  he  could  leave  her  without  rancor,  without 
bitterness. 

Everywhere  the  grain  stood  ripe  and  the  hot 
afternoon  was  full  of  the  smell  of  the  ripe  wheat, 

257 


noon  was  full  < 


O   PIONEERS! 

like  the  smell  of  bread  baking  in  an  oven.  The 
breath  of  the  wheat  and  the  sweet  clover  passed 
him  like  pleasant  things  in  a  dream.  He  could 
feel  nothing  but  the  sense  of  diminishing  dis 
tance.  It  seemed  to  him  that  his  mare  was  fly 
ing,  or  running  on  wheels,  like  a  railway  train. 
The  sunlight,  flashing  on  the  window-glass  of 
the  big  red  barns,  drove  him  wild  with  joy.  He 
was  like  an  arrow  shot  from  the  bow.  His  life 
poured  itself  out  along  the  road  before  him  as  he 
rode  to  the  Shabata  farm. 

When  Emil  alighted  at  the  Shabatas'  gate, 
his  horse  was  in  a  lather.  He  tied  her  in  the 
stable  and  hurried  to  the  house.  It  was  empty. 
She  might  be  at  Mrs.  Killer's  or  with  Alexan 
dra.  But  anything  that  reminded  him  of  her 
would  be  enough,  the  orchard,  the  mulberry 
tree  .  .  .  When  he  reached  the  orchard  the  sun 
was  hanging  low  over  the  wheatfield.^  Long 
fingers  6f  light  reached  through  the  apple 
branches  as  through  a  net;  the  orchard  was  rid 
dled  and  shot  with  gold ;  light  was  the  reality, 
the  trees  were  merely  interferences  that  reflected 
and  refracted  light.  ^Emil  went  softly  down 
between  the  cherry  trees  toward  the  wheatfield. 


THE  MULBERRY   TREE 

When  he  came  to  the  corner,  he  stopped  short 
and  put  his  hand  over  his  mouth.  Marie  was 
lying  on  her  side  under  the  white  mulberry  tree, 
[ier  face  half  hidden  in  the  grass,  her  eyes 
closed,  her  hands  lying  limply  where  they  had 
iappened  to  fall.  She  had  lived  a  day  of  her  new 
life  of  perfect  love,  and  it  had  left  her  like  this. 
Her  breast  rose  and  fell  faintly,  as  if  she  were 
asleep.  Emil  threw  himself  down  beside  her  and 
took  her  in  his  arms.  The  blood  came  back  to 
tier  cheeks,  her  amber  eyes  opened  slowly,  and 
in  them  Emil  saw  his  own  face  and  the  orchard 
and  the  sun.  "I  was  dreaming  this,"  she  whis 
kered,  hiding  her  face  against  him,  "don't  take 
my  dream  away!" 


VII 

WHEN  Frank  Shabata  got  home  that  night, 
he  found  EmiPs  mare  in  his  stable.  Such  an 
impertinence  amazed  him.  Like  everybody 
else,  Frank  had  had  an  exciting  day.  Since 
noon  he  had  been  drinking  too  much,  and  he 
was  in  a  bad  temper.  He  talked  bitterly  to  him 
self  while  he  put  his  own  horse  away,  and  as  he 
went  up  the  path  and  saw  that  the  house  was 
dark  he  felt  an  added  sense  of  injury.  He  ap 
proached  quietly  and  listened  on  the  doorstep. 
Hearing  nothing,  he  opened  the  kitchen  door 
and  went  softly  from  one  room  to  another. 
Then  he  went  through  the  house  again,  up 
stairs  and  down,  with  no  better  result.  He  sat 
down  on  the  bottom  step  of  the  box  stairway 
and  tried  to  get  his  wits  together.  In  that  un 
natural  quiet  there  was  no  sound  but  his  own 
heavy  breathing.  Suddenly  an  owl  began  to 
hoot  out  in  the  fields.  Frank  lifted  his  head 
An  idea  flashed  into  his  mind,  and  his  sense 
of  injury  and  outrage  grew.  He  went  into  his 

260 


THE   MULBERRY   TREE 

bedroom  and  took  his  murderous  405  Winches 
ter  from  the  closet. 

When  Frank  took  up  his  gun  and  walked  out 
of  the  house,  he  had  not  the  faintest  purpose  of 
doing  anything  with  it.  He  did  not  believe  that 
he  had  any  real  grievance.  But  it  gratified  him 
to  feel  like  a  desperate  man.  He  had  got  into 
the  habit  of  seeing  himself  always  in  desperate 
straits.  His  unhappy  temperament  was  like  a 
cage;  he  could  never  get  out  of  it;  and  he  felt 
that  other  people,  his  wife  in  particular,  must 
have  put  him  there.  It  had  never  more  than 
dimly  occurred  to  Frank  that  he  made  his  own 
unhappiness.  Though  he  took  up  his  gun  with 
dark  projects  in  his  mind,  he  would  have  been 
paralyzed  v/ith  fright  had  he  known  that  there 
was  the  slightest  probability  of  his  ever  carry 
ing  any  of  them  out. 

Frank  went  slowly  down  to  the  orchard  gate, 
stopped  and  stood  for  a  moment  lost  in 
thought.  He  retraced  his  steps  and  looked 
through  the  barn  and  the  hayloft.  Then  he 
went  out  to  the  road,  where  he  took  the  foot 
path  along  the  outside  of  the  orchard  hedge. 
The  hedge  was  twice  as  tall  as  Frank  himself, 

261 


O   PIONEERS! 

and  so  dense  that  one  could  see  through  it  only 
by  peering  closely  between  the  leaves.  He 
could  see  the  empty  path  a  long  way  in  the 
moonlight.  His  mind  traveled  ahead  to  the 
stile,  which  he  always  thought  of  as  haunted 
by  Emil  Bergson.  But  why  had  he  left  his 
horse? 

At  the  wheatfield  corner,  where  the  orchard 
hedge  ended  and  the  path  led  across  the  pasture 
to  the  Bergsons',  Frank  stopped.  In  the  warm, 
breathless  night  air  he  heard  a  murmuring 
sound,  perfectly  inarticulate,  as  low  as  the 
sound  of  water;  coming  from  a  spring,  where 
there  is  no  fall,  and  where  there  are  no  stones  to 
fret  it.  Frank  strained  his  ears.  It  ceased.  He 
held  his  breath  and  began  to  tremble.  Resting 
the  butt  of  his  gun  on  the  ground,  he  parted  the 
mulberry  leaves  softly  with  his  fingers  and 
peered  through  the  hedge  at  the  dark  figures  on 
the  grass,  in  the  shadow  of  the  mulberry  tree. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  they  must  feel  his  eyes, 
that  they  must  hear  him  breathing.  But  they 
did  not.  Frank,  who  had  always  wanted  to  see 
things  blacker  than  they  were,  for  once  wanted 
to  believe  less  than  he  saw.  The  woman  lying 

262 


THE  MULBERRY   TREE 

in  the  shadow  might  so  easily  be  one  of  the 
Bergsons'  farm-girls.  .  .  .  Again  the  murmur, 
like  water  welling  out  of  the  ground.  This  time 
he  heard  it  more  distinctly,  and  his  blood  was 
quicker  than  his  brain.  He  began  to  act,  just  as 
a  man  who  falls  into  the  fire  begins  to  act.  The 
gun  sprang  to  his  shoulder,  he  sighted  mechani 
cally  and  fired  three  times  without  stopping, 
stopped  without  knowing  why.  Either  he  shut 
his  eyes  or  he  had  vertigo.  He  did  not  see  any 
thing  while  he  was  firing.  He  thought  he  heard 
a  cry  simultaneous  with  the  second  report,  but 
he  was  not  sure.  He  peered  again  through  the 
hedge,  at  the  two  dark  figures  under  the  tree. 
They  had  fallen  a  little  apart  from  each  other, 
and  were  perfectly  still  —  No,  not  quite;  in 
a  white  patch  of  light,  where  the  moon  shone 
through  the  branches,  a  man's  hand  was  pluck 
ing  spasmodically  at  the  grass. 

Suddenly  the  woman  stirred  and  uttered  a 
cry,  then  another,  and  another.  She  was  living! 
She  was  dragging  herself  toward  the  hedge! 
Frank  dropped  his  gun  and  ran  back  along  the 
path,  shaking,  stumbling,  gasping.  He  had 
never  imagined  such  horror.  The  cries  fol- 

263 


O   PIONEERS! 

lowed  him.  They  grew  fainter  and  thicker,  as 
if  she  were  choking.  He  dropped  on  his  knees 
beside  the  hedge  and  crouched  like  a  rabbit, 
listening;  fainter,  fainter;  a  sound  like  a  whine; 
again  —  a  moan  —  another  —  silence.  Frank 
scrambled  to  his  feet  and  ran  on,  groaning  and 
praying.  From  habit  he  went  toward  the  house, 
where  he  was  used  to  being  soothed  when  he  had 
worked  himself  into  a  frenzy,  but  at  the  sight 
of  the  black,  open  door,  he  started  back/' He 
knew  that  he  had  murdefed  somebody,  that  a 
woman  was  bleeding  and  moaning  in  the  or 
chard,  but  he  had  not  realized  before  that  it 
was  his  wife.  The  gate  stared  him  in  the  face. 
He  threw  his  hands  over  his  head.  Which  way 
to  turn?'  He  lifted  his  tormented  face  and 
looked  at  the  sky.  "Holy  Mother  of  God,  not  to 
suffer!  She  was  a  good  girl  —  not  to  suffer!" 

Frank  had  been  wont  to  see  himself  in  dra 
matic  situations;  but  now,  when  he  stood  by  the 
windmill,  in  the  bright  space  between  the  barn 
and  the  house,  facing  his  own  black  doorway,  he 
did  not  see  himself  at  all.  He  stood  like  the 
hare  when  the  dogs  are  approaching  from  all 
sides.  And  he  ran  like  a  hare,  back  and  forth 

264 


THE  MULBERRY   TREE 

about  that  moonlit  space,  before  he  could  make 
up  his  mind  to  go  into  the  dark  stable  for  a 
horse.  The  thought  of  going  into  a  doorway 
was  terrible  to  him.  He  caught  Emil's  horse 
by  the  bit  and  led  it  out.  He  could  not  have 
buckled  a  bridle  on  his  own.  After  two  or 
three  attempts,  he  lifted  himself  into  the  sad 
dle  and  started  for  Hanover.  If  he  could  catch 
the  one  o'clock  train,  he  had  money  enough  to 
get  as  far  as  Omaha. 

While  he  was  thinking  dully  of  this  in  some 
less  sensitized  part  of  his  brain,  his  acuter 
faculties  were  going  over  and  over  the  cries  he 
had  heard  in  the  orchard.  Terror  was  the  only 
thing  that  kept  him  from  going  back  to  her, 
terror  that  she  might  still  be  she,  that  she  might 
still  be  suffering.  A  woman,  mutilated  and 
bleeding  in  his  orchard  —  it  was  because  it  was 
a  woman  that  he  was  so  afraid.  It  was  incon 
ceivable  that  he  should  have  hurt  a  woman.  He 
would  rather  be  eaten  by  wild  beasts  than  see 
her  move  on  the  ground  as  she  had  moved  in 
the  orchard.  Why  had  she  been  so  careless? 
She  knew  he  was  like  a  crazy  man  when  he  was 
angry.  She  had  more  than  once  taken  that  gun 

265 


O   PIONEERS! 

away  from  him  and  held  it,  when  he  was  angry 
with  other  people.  Once  it  had  gone  off  while 
they  were  struggling  over  it.  She  was  never 
afraid.  But,  when  she  knew  him,  why  had  n't 
she  been  more  careful?  Didn't  she  have  all 
summer  before  her  to  love  Emil  Bergson  in, 
without  taking  such  chances  ?  Probably  she  had 
met  the  Smirka  boy,  too,  down  there  in  the 
orchard.  He  did  n't  care.  She  could  have  met 
all  the  men  on  the  Divide  there,  and  welcome,  if 
only  she  had  n't  brought  this  horror  on  him. 

There  was  a  wrench  in  Frank's  mind.  He  did 
not  honestly  believe  that  of  her.  He  knew  that 
he  was  doing  her  wrong.  He  stopped  his  horse 
to  admit  this  to  himself  the  more  directly,  to 
think  it  out  the  more  clearly.  He  knew  that 
he  was  to  blame.  For  three  years  he  had  been 
trying  to  break  her  spirit.  She  had  a  way  of 
making  the  best  of  things  that  seemed  to  him  a 
sentimental  affectation.  He  wanted  his  wife  to 
resent  that  he  was  wasting  his  best  years  among 
these  stupid  and  unappreciative  people;  but  she 
had  seemed  to  find  the  people  quite  good 
enough.  If  he  ever  got  rich  he  meant  to  buy 
her  pretty  clothes  and  take  her  to  California  in 

266 


THE  MULBERRY   TREE 

a  Pullman  car,  and  treat  her  like  a  lady;  but  in 
the  mean  time  he  wanted  her  to  feel  that  life 
was  as  ugly  and  as  unjust  as  he  felt  it.  He  had 
tried  to  make  her  life  ugly.  He  had  refused  to 
share  any  of  the  little  pleasures  she  was  so 
plucky  about  making  for  herself.  She  could  be 
gay  about  the  least  thing  in  the  world;  but  she 
must  be  gay!  When  she  first  came  to  him,  her 
faith  in  him,  her  adoration  —  Frank  struck  the 
mare  with  his  fist.  Why  had  Marie  made  him 
do  this  thing;  why  had  she  brought  this  upon 
him?  He  was  overwhelmed  by  sickening  mis 
fortune.  All  at  once  he  heard  her  cries  again  — 
he  had  forgotten  for  a  moment.  "Maria,"  he 
sobbed  aloud,  "Maria!" 

When  Frank  was  halfway  to  Hanover,  the 
motion  of  his  horse  brought  on  a  violent  attack 
of  nausea.  After  it  had  passed,  he  rode  on 
again,  but  he  could  think  of  nothing  except  his 
physical  weakness  and  his  desire  to  be  com 
forted  by  his  wife.  He  wanted  to  get  into  his 
own  bed.  Had  his  wife  been  at  home,  he  would 
have  turned  and  gone  back  to  her  meekly 
enough. 


VIII 

WHEN  old  Ivar  climbed  down  from  his  loft 
at  four  o'clock  the  next  morning,  he  came  upon 
EmiPs  mare,  jaded  and  lather-stained,  her 
bridle  broken,  chewing  the  scattered  tufts  of 
hay  outside  the  stable  door.  The  old  man  was 
thrown  into  a  fright  at  once.  He  put  the  mare 
in  her  stall,  threw  her  a  measure  of  oats,  and 
then  set  out  as  fast  as  his  bow-legs  could  carry 
him  on  the  path  to  the  nearest  neighbor. 

"Something  is  wrong  with  that  boy.  Some 
misfortune  has  come  upon  us.  He  would  never 
have  used  her  so,  in  his  right  senses.  It  is  not 
his  way  to  abuse  his  mare,"  the  old  man  kept 
muttering,  as  he  scuttled  through  the  short, 
wet  pasture  grass  on  his  bare  feet. 

While  Ivar  was  hurrying  across  the  fields,  the 
first  long  rays  of  the  sun  were  reaching  down 
between  the  orchard  boughs  to  those  two  dew- 
drenched  figures.  The  story  of  what  had  hap 
pened  was  written  plainly  on  the  orchard  grass, 
and  on  the  white  mulberries  that  had  fallen  in 
the  night  and  were  covered  with  dark  stain. 

268 


THE  MULBERRY   TREE 

For  Emil  the  chapter  had  been  short.  He  was 
shot  in  the  heart,  and  had  rolled  over  on  his 
back  and  died.  His  face  was  turned  up  to  the 
sky  and  his  brows  were  drawn  in  a  frown,  as 
if  he  had  realized  that  something  had  befallen 
him.  But  for  Marie  Shabata  it  had  not  been  so 
easy.  One  ball  had  torn  through  her  right  lung, 
another  had  shattered  the  carotid  artery.  She 
must  have  started  up  and  gone  toward  the 
hedge,  leaving  a  trail  of  blood.  There  she  had 
fallen  and  bled.  From  that  spot  there  was 
another  trail,  heavier  than  the  first,  where  she 
must  have  dragged  herself  back  to  Emil's  body. 
Once  there,  she  seemed  not  to  have  struggled 
any  more.  She  had  lifted  her  head  to  her  lover's 
breast,  taken  his  hand  in  both  her  own,  and 
bled  quietly  to  death.  She  was  lying  on  her 
right  side  in  an  easy  and  natural  position,  her 
cheek  on  Emil's  shoulder.  On  her  face  there  was 
a  look  of  ineffable  content.  Her  lips  were  parted 
a  little;  her  eyes  were  lightly  closed,  as  if  in  a 
day-dream  or  a  light  slumber.  After  she  lay 
down  there,  she  seemed  not  to  have  moved  an 
eyelash.  The  hand  she  held  was  covered  with 
dark  stains,  where  she  had  kissed  it. 

269 


O   PIONEERS! 

But  the  stained,  slippery  grass,  the  darkened 
mulberries,  told  only  half  the  story.  Above 
Marie  and  Emil,  two  white  butterflies  from 
Frank's  alfalfa-field  were  fluttering  in  and  out 
among  the  interlacing  shadows;  diving  and 
soaring,  now  close  together,  now  far  apart;  and 
in  the  long  grass  by  the  fence  the  last  wild  roses 
of  the  year  opened  their  pink  hearts  to  die. 

When  Ivar  reached  the  path  by  the  hedge,  he 
saw  Shabata's  rifle  lying  in  the  way.  He  turned 
and  peered  through  the  branches,  falling  upon 
his  knees  as  if  his  legs  had  been  mowed  from 
under  him.  "Merciful  God!"  he  groaned; 
"merciful,  merciful  God!" 

Alexandra,  too,  had  risen  early  that  morning, 
because  of  her  anxiety  about  Emil.  She  was  in 
Emil's  room  upstairs  when,  from  the  window, 
she  saw  Ivar  coming  along  the  path  that  led 
from  the  Shabatas'.  He  was  running  like  a 
spent  man,  tottering  and  lurching  from  side  to 
side.  Ivar  never  drank,  and  Alexandra  thought 
at  once  that  one  of  his  spells  had  come  upon 
him,  and  that  he  must  be  in  a  very  bad  way 
indeed.  She  ran  downstairs  and  hurried  out 

270 


MULBERRY  TREE 

to  meet  him,  to  hide  his  infirmity  from  the 
eyes  of  her  household.  The  old  man  fell  in  the 
road  at  her  feet  and  caught  her  hand,  over 
which  he  bowed  his  shaggy  head.  "Mistress, 
mistress,"  he  sobbed,  "it  has  fallen!  Sin  and 
death  for  the  young  ones!  God  have  mercy 
upon  us!" 


PART  V 

ALEXANDRA 


IVAR  was  sitting  at  a  cobbler's  bench  in  the 
barn,  mending  harness  by  the  light  of  a  lantern 
and  repeating  to  himself  the  loist  Psalm.  It 
was  only  five  o'clock  of  a  mid-October  day,  but 
a  storm  had  come  up  in  the  afternoon,  bring- 
ing  black  clouds,  a  cold  wind  and  torrents  of 
rain.  The  old  man  wore  his  buffalo-skin  coat, 
and  occasionally  stopped  to  warm  his  fingers  at 
the  lantern.  Suddenly  a  woman  burst  into  the 
shed,  as  if  she  had  been  blown  in,  accompanied 
by  a  shower  of  rain-drops.  It  was  Signa, 
wrapped  in  a  man's  overcoat  and  wearing  a 
pair  of  boots  over  her  shoes.  In  time  of  trouble 
Signa  had  come  back  to  stay  with  her  mistress, 
for  she  was  the  only  one  of  the  maids  from 
whom  Alexandra  would  accept  much  personal 
service.  It  was  three  months  now  since  the 
news  of  the  tc'mble  thing  that  had  happened 

275 


O   PIONEERS! 

in  Frank  Shabata's  orchard  had  first  run  like 
a  fire  over  the  Divide.  Signa  and  Nelse  were 
staying  on  with  Alexandra  until  winter. 

"Ivar,"  Signa  exclaimed  as  she  wiped  the 
rain  from  her  face,  "do  you  know  where  she 
is?" 

The  old  man  put  down  his  cobbler's  knife. 
"Who,  the  mistress?" 

"Yes.  She  went  away  about  three  o'clock.  I 
happened  to  look  out  of  the  window  and  saw 
her  going  across  the  fields  in  her  thin  dress  and 
sun-hat.  And  now  this  storm  has  come  on.  I 
thought  she  was  going  to  Mrs.  Killer's,  and  I 
telephoned  as  soon  as  the  thunder  stopped,  but 
she  had  not  been  there.  I  'm  afraid  she  is  out 
somewhere  and  will  get  her  death  of  cold." 

Ivar  put  on  his  cap  and  took  up  the  lantern. 
"/#>  ja,  we  will  see.  I  will  hitch  the  boy's  mare 
to  the  cart  and  go." 

Signa  followed  him  across  the  wagon-shed  to 
the  horses'  stable.  She  was  shivering  with  cold 
and  excitement.  "Where  do  you  suppose  she 
can  be,  Ivar?" 

The  old  man  lifted  a  set  of  single  harness 
carefully  from  its  peg.  "How  s.1~  juld  I  know?" 

276 


ALEXANDRA 

"But  you  think  she  is  at  the  graveyard, 
don't  you?"  Signa  persisted.  "So  do  I.  Oh,  I 
wish  she  would  be  more  like  herself!  I  can't 
believe  it's  Alexandra  Bergson  come  to  this, 
with  no  head  about  anything.  I  have  to  tell  her 
when  to  eat  and  when  to  go  to  bed." 

"Patience,  patience,  sister,"  muttered  Ivar 
as  he  settled  the  bit  in  the  horse's  mouth. 
"When  the  eyes  of  the  flesh  are  shut,  the  eyes 
of  the  spirit  are  open.  She  will  have  a  message 
from  those  who  are  gone,  and  that  will  bring  her 
peace.  Until  then  we  must  bear  with  her.  You 
and  I  are  the  only  ones  who  have  weight  with 
her.  She  trusts  us." 

"How  awful  it's  been  these  last  three 
months."  Signa  held  the  lantern  so  that  he 
could  see  to  buckle  the  straps.  "It  don't  seem 
right  that  we  must  all  be  so  miserable.  Why  do 
we  all  have  to  be  punished?  Seems  to  me  like 
good  times  would  never  come  again." 

Ivar  expressed  himself  in  a  deep  sigh,  but 
said  nothing.  He  stooped  and  took  a  sandburr 
from  his  toe. 

"Ivar,"  Signa  asked  suddenly,  "will  you  tell 
me  why  you  go  barefoot?  All  the  time  I  lived 

277 


O   PIONEERS! 

here  in  the  house  I  wanted  to  ask  you.  Is  it  for 
a  penance,  or  what?" 

"No,  sister.  It  is  for  the  indulgence  of  the 
body.  From  my  youth  up  I  have  had  a  strong, 
rebellious  body,  and  have  been  subject  to  every 
kind  of  temptation.  Even  in  age  my  tempta 
tions  are  prolonged.  It  was  necessary  to  make 
some  allowances;  and  the  feet,  as  I  understand 
it,  are  free  members.  There  is  no  divine  pro 
hibition  for  them  in  the  Ten  Commandments. 
The  hands,  the  tongue,  the  eyes,  the  heart,  all 
the  bodily  desires  we  are  commanded  to  sub 
due;  but  the  feet  are  free  members.  I  indulge 
them  without  harm  to  any  one,  even  to  tramp 
ling  in  filth  when  my  desires  are  low.  They  are 
quickly  cleaned  again." 

Signa  did  not  laugh.  She  looked  thoughtful 
as  she  followed  Ivar  out  to  the  wagon-shed  and 
held  the  shafts  up  for  him,  while  he  backed  in 
the  mare  and  buckled  the  hold-backs.  "You 
have  been  a  good  friend  to  the  mistress,  Ivar," 
she  murmured. 

"And  you,  God  be  with  you,"  replied  Ivar  as 
he  clambered  into  the  cart  and  put  the  lan 
tern  under  the  oilcloth  lap-cover.  "Now  for  a 

278 


ALEXANDRA 

ducking,  my  girl,"  he  said  to  the  mare,  gather 
ing  up  the  reins. 

As  they  emerged  from  the  shed,  a  stream  of 
water,  running  off  the  thatch,  struck  the  mare 
on  the  neck.  She  tossed  her  head  indignantly, 
then  struck  out  bravely  on  the  soft  ground, 
slipping  back  again  and  again  as  she  climbed 
the  hill  to  the  main  road.  Between  the  rain  and 
the  darkness  Ivar  could  see  very  little,  so  he  let 
Emil's  mare  have  the  rein,  keeping  her  head  in 
the  right  direction.  When  the  ground  was  level, 
he  turned  her  out  of  the  dirt  road  upon  the  sod, 
where  she  was  able  to  trot  without  slipping. 

Before  Ivar  reached  the  graveyard,  three 
miles  from  the  house,  the  storm  had  spent 
itself,  and  the  downpour  had  died  into  a  soft, 
dripping  rain.  The  sky  and  the  land  were  a 
dark  smoke  color,  and  seemed  to  be  coming 
together,  like  two  waves.  When  Ivar  stopped 
at  the  gate  and  swung  out  his  lantern,  a  white 
figure  rose  from  beside  John  Bergson's  white 
stone. 

The  old  man  sprang  to  the  ground  and  shuf 
fled  toward  the  gate  calling,  "Mistress,  mis 
tress!" 

279 


O   PIONEERS! 

Alexandra  hurried  to  meet  him  and  put  her 
hand  on  his  shoulder.  "Tyst!  Ivar.  There's 
nothing  to  be  worried  about.  I  'm  sorry  if  I  Ve 
scared  you  all.  I  did  n't  notice  the  storm  till  it 
was  on  me,  and  I  could  n't  walk  against  it.  I  'm 
glad  you've  come.  I  am  so  tired  I  did  n't  know 
how  I'd  ever  get  home." 

Ivar  swung  the  lantern  up  so  that  it  shone  in 
her  face.  "Gud!  You  are  enough  to  frighten 
us,  mistress.  You  look  like  a  drowned  woman. 
How  could  you  do  such  a  thing!" 

Groaning  and  mumbling  he  led  her  out  of  the 
gate  and  helped  her  into  the  cart,  wrapping  her 
in  the  dry  blankets  on  which  he  had  been  sitting. 

Alexandra  smiled  at  his  solicitude.  "Not 
much  use  in  that,  Ivar.  You  will  only  shut  the 
wet  in.  I  don't  feel  so  cold  now;  but  I  'm  heavy 
and  numb.  I'm  glad  you  came." 

Ivar  turned  the  mare  and  urged  her  into  a 
sliding  trot.  Her  feet  sent  back  a  continual 
spatter  of  mud. 

Alexandra  spoke  to  the  old  man  as  they 
jogged  along  through  the  sullen  gray  twilight  of 
the  storm.  "Ivar,  I  think  it  has  done  me  good 
to  get  cold  clear  through  like  this,  once.  I  don't 

280 


ALEXANDRA 

believe  I  shall  suffer  so  much  any  more.  When 
you  get  so  near  the  dead,  they  seem  more  real 
than  the  living.  Worldly  thoughts  leave  one. 
Ever  since  Emil  died,  I  Ve  suffered  so  when  it 
rained.  Now  that  I  Ve  been  out  in  it  with  him, 
I  shan't  dread  it.  After  you  once  get  cold  clear 
through,  the  feeling  of  the  rain  on  you  is  sweet. 
It  seems  to  bring  back  feelings  you  had  when 
you  were  a  baby.  It  carries  you  back  into  the 
dark,  before  you  were  born ;  you  can't  see  things, 
but  they  come  to  you,  somehow,  and  you  know 
them  and  are  n't  afraid  of  them.  Maybe  it 's  like 
that  with  the  dead.  If  they  feel  anything  at  all, 
it's  the  old  things,  before  they  were  born,  that 
comfort  people  like  the  feeling  of  their  own 
bed  does  when  they  are  little." 

"Mistress,"  said  Ivar  reproachfully,  "those 
are  bad  thoughts.  The  dead  are  in  Paradise." 

Then  he  hung  his  head,  for  he  did  not  believe 
that  Emil  was  in  Paradise. 

When  they  got  home,  Signa  had  a  fire  burn 
ing  in  the  sitting-room  stove.  She  undressed 
Alexandra  and  gave  her  a  hot  footbath,  while 
Ivar  made  ginger  tea  in  the  kitchen.  When 
Alexandra  was  in  bed,  wrapped  in  hot  blankets, 

281 


O   PIONEERS! 

Ivar  came  in  with  his  tea  and  saw  that  she 
drank  it.  Signa  asked  permission  to  sleep  on 
the  slat  lounge  outside  her  door.  Alexandra 
endured  their  attentions  patiently,  but  she  was 
glad  when  they  put  out  the  lamp  and  left  her. 
As  she  lay  alone  in  the  dark,  it  occurred  to  her 
for  the  first  time  that  perhaps  she  was  actually 
tired  of  life.  All  the  physical  operations  of  life 
seemed  difficult  and  painful.  She  longed  to  be 
free  from  her  own  body,  which  ached  and  was 
so  heavy.  And  longing  itself  was  heavy:  she 
yearned  to  be  free  of  that. 

As  she  lay  with  her  eyes  closed,  she  had  again, 
more  vividly  than  for  many  years,  the  old  illu 
sion  of  her  girlhood,  of  being  lifted  and  carried 
lightly  by  some  one  very  strong.  He  was  with 
her  a  long  while  this  time,  and  carried  her  very 
far,  and  in  his  arms  she  felt  free  from  pain. 
When  he  laid  her  down  on  her  bed  again,  she 
opened  her  eyes,  and,  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life,  she  saw  him,  saw  him  clearly,  though  the 
room  was  dark,  and  his  face  was  covered.  He 
was  standing  in  the  doorway  of  her  room.  His 
white  cloak  was  thrown  over  his  face,  and  his 
head  was  bent  a  little  forward.  His  shoulders 

282 


ALEXANDRA 

seemed  as  strong  as  the  foundations  of  the 
world.  His  right  arm,  bared  from  the  elbow, 
was  dark  and  gleaming,  like  bronze,  and  she 
knew  at  once  that  it  was  the  arm  of  the  mighti 
est  of  all  lovers.  She  knew  at  last  for  whom  it 
was  she  had  waited,  and  where  he  would  carry 
her.  That,  she  told  herself,  was  very  well. 
Then  she  went  to  sleep. 

Alexandra  wakened  in  the  morning  with 
nothing  worse  than  a  hard  cold  and  a  stiff 
shoulder.  She  kept  her  bed  for  several  days, 
and  it  was  during  that  time  that  she  formed  a 
resolution  to  go  to  Lincoln  to  see  Frank  Sha- 
bata.  Ever  since  she  last  saw  him  in  the  court 
room,  Frank's  haggard  face  and  wild  eyes 
had  haunted  her.  The  trial  had  lasted  only 
three  days.  Frank  had  given  himself  up  to  the 
police  in  Omaha  and  pleaded  guilty  of  kill 
ing  without  malice  and  without  premeditation. 
The  gun  was,  of  course,  against  him,  and  the 
judge  had  given  him  the  full  sentence,  —  ten 
years.  He  had  now  been  in  the  State  Peni 
tentiary  for  a  month. 

Frank  was  the  only  one,  Alexandra  told  her 
self,  for  whom  anything  could  be  done.  He  had 

283 


O   PIONEERS! 

been  less  in  the  wrong  than  any  of  them,  and  he 
was  paying  the  heaviest  penalty.  She  often  felt 
that  she  herself  had  been  more  to  blame  than 
poor  Frank.  From  the  time  the  Shabatas  had 
first  moved  to  the  neighboring  farm,  she  had 
omitted  no  opportunity  of  throwing  Marie  and 
Emil  together.  Because  she  knew  Frank  was 
surly  about  doing  little  things  to  help  his  wife, 
she  was  always  sending  Emil  over  to  spade  or 
plant  or  carpenter  for  Marie.  She  was  glad  to 
have  Emil  see  as  much  as  possible  of  an  intelli 
gent,  city-bred  girl  like  their  neighbor;  she  no 
ticed  that  it  improved  his  manners.  She  knew 
that  Emil  was  fond  of  Marie,  but  it  had  never 
occurred  to  her  that  Emil's  feeling  might  be  dif 
ferent  from  her  own.  She  wondered  at  herself 
now,  but  she  had  never  thought  of  danger  in 
that  direction.  If  Marie  had  been  unmarried, 
—  oh,  yes !  Then  she  would  have  kept  her  eyes 
open.  But  the  mere  fact  that  she  was  Sha- 
bata's  wife,  for  Alexandra,  settled  everything. 
That  she  was  beautiful,  impulsive,  barely  two 
years  older  than  Emil,  these  facts  had  had  no 
weight  with  Alexandra.  Emil  was  a  good  boy, 
and  only  bad  boys  ran  after  married  women. 

284 


ALEXANDRA 

Now,  Alexandra  could  in  a  measure  realize 
that  Marie  was,  after  all,  Marie;  not  merely 
a  "married  woman."  Sometimes,  when  Alex 
andra  thought  of  her,  it  was  with  an  aching 
tenderness.  The  moment  she  had  reached  them 
in  the  orchard  that  morning,  everything  was 
clear  to  her.  There  was  something  about  those 
two  lying  in  the  grass,  something  in  the  way 
Marie  had  settled  her  cheek  on  Emil's  shoulder, 
that  told  her  everything.  She  wondered  then 
how  they  could  have  helped  loving  each  other; 
how  she  could  have  helped  knowing  that  they 
must.  Emil's  cold,  frowning  face,  the  girl's 
content  —  Alexandra  had  felt  awe  of  them, 
even  in  the  first  shock  of  her  grief. 

The  idleness  of  those  days  in  bed,  the  relax 
ation  of  body  which  attended  them,  enabled 
Alexandra  to  think  more  calmly  than  she  had 
done  since  Emil's  death.  She  and  Frank,  she 
told  herself,  were  left  out  of  that  group  of 
friends  who  had  been  overwhelmed  by  disaster. 
She  must  certainly  see  Frank  Shabata.  Even 
in  the  courtroom  her  heart  had  grieved  for  him. 
He  was  in  a  strange  country,  he  had  no  kins 
men  or  friends,  and  in  a  moment  he  had  ruined 

285 


O   PIONEERS! 

his  life.  Being  what  he  was,  she  felt,  Frank 
could  not  have  acted  otherwise.  She  could 
understand  his  behavior  more  easily  than  she 
could  understand  Marie's.  Yes,  she  must  go  to 
Lincoln  to  see  Frank  Shabata. 

The  day  after  EmiPs  funeral,  Alexandra  had 
written  to  Carl  Linstrum;  a  single  page  of  note- 
paper,  a  bare  statement  of  what  had  happened. 
She  was  not  a  woman  who  could  write  much 
about  such  a  thing,  and  about  her  own  feelings 
she  could  never  write  very  freely.  She  knew 
that  Carl  was  away  from  post-offices,  prospect 
ing  somewhere  in  the  interior.  Before  he  started 
he  had  written  her  where  he  expected  to  go,  but 
her  ideas  about  Alaska  were  vague.  As  the 
weeks  went  by  and  she  heard  nothing  from  him, 
it  seemed  to  Alexandra  that  her  heart  grew  hard 
against  Carl.  She  began  to  wonder  whether  she 
would  not  do  better  to  finish  her  life  alone. 
What  was  left  of  life  seemed  unimportant. 


II 

LATE  in  the  afternoon  of  a  brilliant  October 
day,  Alexandra  Bergson,  dressed  in  a  black  suit 
and  traveling-hat,  alighted  at  the  Burlington 
depot  in  Lincoln.  She  drove  to  the  Lindell 
Hotel,  where  she  had  stayed  two  years  ago 
when  she  came  up  for  EmiPs  Commencement. 
In  spite  of  her  usual  air  of  sureness  and  self- 
possession,  Alexandra  felt  ill  at  ease  in  hotels, 
and  she  was  glad,  when  she  went  to  the  clerk's 
desk  to  register,  that  there  were  not  many 
people  in  the  lobby.  She  had  her  supper  early, 
wearing  her  hat  and  black  jacket  down  to  the 
dining-room  and  carrying  her  handbag.  After 
supper  she  went  out  for  a  walk. 

It  was  growing  dark  when  she  reached 
the  university  campus.  She  did  not  go  into  the 
grounds,  but  walked  slowly  up  and  down  the 
stone  walk  outside  the  long  iron  fence,  looking 
through  at  the  young  men  who  were  running 
from  one  building  to  another,  at  the  lights  shin 
ing  from  the  armory  and  the  library.  A  squad 
of  cadets  were  going  through  their  drill  behind 

287 


O   PIONEERS! 

the  armory,  and  the  commands  of  their  young 
officer  rang  out  at  regular  intervals,  so  sharp 
and  quick  that  Alexandra  could  not  understand 
them.  Two  stalwart  girls  came  down  the  library 
steps  and  out  through  one  of  the  iron  gates.  As 
they  passed  her,  Alexandra  was  pleased  to  hear 
them  speaking  Bohemian  to  each  other.  Every 
few  moments  a  boy  would  come  running  down 
the  flagged  walk  and  dash  out  into  the  street  as 
if  he  were  rushing  to  announce  some  wonder  to 
the  world.  Alexandra  felt  a  great  tenderness  for 
them  all.  She  wished  one  of  them  would  stop 
and  speak  to  her.  She  wished  she  could  ask 
them  whether  they  had  known  Emil. 

As  she  lingered  by  the  south  gate  she  actually 
did  encounter  one  of  the  boys.  He  had  on  his 
drill  cap  and  was  swinging  his  books  at  the 
end  of  a  long  strap.  It  was  dark  by  this  time; 
he  did  not  see  her  and  ran  against  her.  He 
snatched  off  his  cap  and  stood  bareheaded  and 
panting.  "I'm  awfully  sorry,"  he  said  in  a 
bright,  clear  voice,  with  a  rising  inflection,  as  if 
he  expected  her  to  say  something. 

"  Oh,  it  was  my  fault ! ' '  said  Alexandra  eagerly, 
"Are  you  an  old  student  here,  may  I  ask?" 

288 


ALEXANDRA 

"No,  ma'am.  I'm  a  Freshie,  just  off  the 
farm.  Cherry  County.  Were  you  hunting 
somebody?" 

"No,  thank  you.  That  is — "  Alexandra 
wanted  to  detain  him.  "That  is,  I  would  like  to 
find  some  of  my  brother's  friends.  He  gradu 
ated  two  years  ago." 

"Then    you'd    have    to    try    the    Seniors, 

would  n't  you?  Let's  see;  I  don't  know  any  of 

I  them  yet,  but  there'll  be  sure  to  be  some  of 

I  them  around  the  library.   That  red  building, 

j  right  there,"  he  pointed. 

"Thank  you,  I'll  try  there,"  said  Alexandra 
!  lingeringly. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right!  Good-night."  The  lad 
clapped  his  cap  on  his  head  and  ran  straight 
down  Eleventh  Street.  Alexandra  looked  after 
him  wistfully. 

She  walked  back  to  her  hotel  unreasonably 
comforted.  "What  a  nice  voice  that  boy  had, 
and  how  polite  he  was.  I  know  Emil  was  always 
like  that  to  women."  And  again,  after  she  had 
undressed  and  was  standing  in  her  nightgown, 
brushing  her  long,  heavy  hair  by  the  electric 
light,  she  remembered  him  and  said  to  herself: 

289 


O  PIONEERS! 

"I  don't  think  I  ever  heard  a  nicer  voice  than 
that  boy  had.  I  hope  he  will  get  on  well  here. 
Cherry  County;  that's  where  the  hay  is  so  fine, 
and  the  coyotes  can  scratch  down  to  water." 

At  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning  Alexandra 
presented  herself  at  the  warden's  office  in  the 
State  Penitentiary.  The  warden  was  a  Ger 
man,  a  ruddy,  cheerful-looking  man  who  had 
formerly  been  a  harness-maker.  Alexandra  had 
a  letter  to  him  from  the  German  banker  in 
Hanover.  As  he  glanced  at  the  letter,  Mr. 
Schwartz  put  away  his  pipe. 

"That  big  Bohemian,  is  it?  Sure,  he's 
gettin'  along  fine,"  said  Mr.  Schwartz  cheer 
fully. 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  that.  I  was  afraid  he 
might  be  quarrelsome  and  get  himself  into  more 
trouble.  Mr.  Schwartz,  if  you  have  time,  I 
would  like  to  tell  you  a  little  about  Frank 
Shabata,  and  why  I  am  interested  in  him." 

The  warden  listened  genially  while  she  told 
him  briefly  something  of  Frank's  history  and 
character,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  find  anything 
unusual  in  her  account. 

"Sure,  I'll  keep  an  eye  on  him.   We'll  take 
390 
' 


ALEXANDRA 

: care  of  him  all  right,"  he  said,  rising.  "You  can 
Italk  to  him  here,  while  I  go  to  see  to  things  in 
| the  kitchen.  I'll  have  him  sent  in.  He  ought 
!to  be  done  washing  out  his  cell  by  this  time.  We 
have  to  keep  'em  clean,  you  know." 

The  warden  paused  at  the  door,  speaking 
back  over  his  shoulder  to  a  pale  young  man  in 
convicts'  clothes  who  was  seated  at  a  desk  in 
the  corner,  writing  in  a  big  ledger. 

"Bertie,  when  1037  is  brought  in,  you  just 
step  out  and  give  this  lady  a  chance  to  talk." 

The  young  man  bowed  his  head  and  bent 
over  his  ledger  again. 

When  Mr.  Schwartz  disappeared,  Alexandra 
thrust  her  black-edged  handkerchief  nervously 
into  her  handbag.  Coming  out  on  the  street 
car  she  had  not  had  the  least  dread  of  meeting 
Frank.  But  since  she  had  been  here  the  sounds 
and  smells  in  the  corridor,  the  look  of  the  men 
in  convicts'  clothes  who  passed  the  glass  door  of 
the  warden's  office,  affected  her  unpleasantly. 

The  warden's  clock  ticked,  the  young  con 
vict's  pen  scratched  busily  in  the  big  book,  and 
his  sharp  shoulders  were  shaken  every  few 
seconds  by  a  loose  cough  which  he  tried  to 

291 


O   PIONEERS! 

smother.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  he  was  a  sick 
man.  Alexandra  looked  at  him  timidly,  but  he 
did  not  once  raise  his  eyes.  He  wore  a  white 
shirt  under  his  striped  jacket,  a  high  collar,  and 
a  necktie,  very  carefully  tied.  His  hands  were 
thin  and  white  and  well  cared  for,  and  he  had  a 
seal  ring  on  his  little  finger.  When  he  heard 
steps  approaching  in  the  corridor,  he  rose, 
blotted  his  book,  put  his  pen  in  the  rack,  and 
left  the  room  without  raising  his  eyes.  Through 
the  door  he  opened  a  guard  came  in,  bringing 
Frank  Shabata. 

"You  the  lady  that  wanted  to  talk  to  1037? 
Here  he  is.  Be  on  your  good  behavior,  now.  He 
can  set  down,  lady,"  seeing  that  Alexandra 
remained  standing.  "Push  that  white  button 
when  you 're  through  with  him,  and  I'll  come." 

The  guard  went  out  and  Alexandra  and 
Frank  were  left  alone. 

Alexandra  tried  not  to  see  his  hideous 
clothes.  She  tried  to  look  straight  into  his  face, 
which  she  could  scarcely  believe  was  his.  It 
was  already  bleached  to  a  chalky  gray.  His  lips 
were  colorless,  his  fine  teeth  looked  yellowish. 
He  glanced  at  Alexandra  sullenly,  blinked  as  if 

292 


ALEXANDRA 

ihe  had  come  from  a  dark  place,  and  one  eye 
brow  twitched  continually.  She  felt  at  once 
| that  this  interview  was  a  terrible  ordeal  to  him. 
'His  shaved  head,  showing  the  conformation  of 
Ihis  skull,  gave  him  a  criminal  look  which  he  had 
not  had  during  the  trial. 

Alexandra  held  out  her  hand.  "Frank,"  she 
isaid,  her  eyes  filling  suddenly,  "I  hope  you'll 
let  me  be  friendly  with  you.  I  understand  how 
you  did  it.  I  don't  feel  hard  toward  you.  They 
were  more  to  blame  than  you." 

Frank  jerked  a  dirty  blue  handkerchief  from 
|his  trousers  pocket.  He  had  begun  to  cry.  He 
jturned  away  from  Alexandra.  "I  never  did 
imean  to  do  not'ing  to  dat  woman,"  he  mut- 
jtered.  "  I  never  mean  to  do  not'ing  to  dat  boy. 
I  ain't  had  not'ing  ag'in'  dat  boy.  I  always  like 
jdat  boy  fine.  An'  then  I  find  him — "  He 
istopped.  The  feeling  went  out  of  his  face  and 
eyes.  He  dropped  into  a  chair  and  sat  looking 
| stolidly  at  the  floor,  his  hands  hanging  loosely 
between  his  knees,  the  handkerchief  lying 
across  his  striped  leg.  He  seemed  to  have 
stirred  up  in  his  mind  a  disgust  that  had  para- 
jlyzed  his  faculties. 

293 


O   PIONEERS! 

"  I  have  n't  come  up  here  to  blame  yoi 
Frank.  I  think  they  were  more  to  blame  tha 
you."  Alexandra,  too,  felt  benumbed. 

Frank  looked  up  suddenly  and  stared  out 
the  office  window.  "I  guess  dat  place  all  go  t 
hell  what  I  work  so  hard  on,"  he  said  with  a 
slow,  bitter  smile.  "I  not  care  a  damn."  He 
stopped  and  rubbed  the  palm  of  his  hand  over 
the  light  bristles  on  his  head  with  annoyance. 
"I  no  can  t'ink  without  my  hair,"  he  com 
plained.  "I  forget  English.  We  not  talk  here* 
except  swear." 

Alexandra  was  bewildered.  Frank  seemed  to 
have  undergone  a  change  of  personality.  There1 
was  scarcely  anything  by  which  she  could 
recognize  her  handsome  Bohemian  neighbor, 
He  seemed,  somehow,  not  altogether  human. 
She  did  not  know  what  to  say  to  him. 

"You  do  not  feel  hard  to  me,  Frank?"  she 
asked  at  last. 

Frank  clenched  his  fist  and  broke  out  in 
excitement.  "I  not  feel  hard  at  no  woman.  I 
tell  you  I  not  that  kind-a  man.  I  never  hit  my 
wife.  No,  never  I  hurt  her  when  she  devil  me 
something  awful!"  He  struck  his  fist  down  on 

294 


ALEXANDRA 

the  warden's  desk  so  hard  that  he  afterward 
stroked  it  absently.  A  pale  pink  crept  over 
his  neck  and  face.  "Two,  t'ree  years  I  know 
dat  woman  don'  care  no  more  'bout  me,  Alex 
andra  Bergson.  I  know  she  after  some  other 
man.  I  know  her,  oo-oo!  An'  I  ain't  never  hurt 
her.  I  never  would-a  done  dat,  if  I  ain't  had 
dat  gun  along.  I  don'  know  what  in  hell  make 
me  take  dat  gun.  She  always  say  I  ain't  no 
man  to  carry  gun.  If  she  been  in  dat  house, 
where  she  ought-a  been  —  But  das  a  foolish 
talk." 

Frank  rubbed  his  head  and  stopped  suddenly, 
as  he  had  stopped  before.  Alexandra  felt  that 
there  was  something  strange  in  the  way  he 
chilled  off,  as  if  something  came  up  in  him  that 
extinguished  his  power  of  feeling  or  thinking. 

"Yes,  Frank,"  she  said  kindly.  "I  know  you 
never  meant  to  hurt  Marie." 

Frank  smiled  at  her  queerly.  His  eyes  filled 
slowly  with  tears.  "You  know,  I  most  forgit 
dat  woman's  name.  She  ain't  got  no  name  for 
me  no  more.  I  never  hate  my  wife,  but  dat 
woman  what  make  me  do  dat —  Honest  to 
God,  but  I  hate  her!  I  no  man  to  fight.  I  don' 

295 


O   PIONEERS! 

want  to  kill  no  boy  and  no  woman.  I  not  care 
how  many  men  she  take  under  dat  tree.  I  no 
care  for  not'ing  but  dat  fine  boy  I  kill,  Alexan 
dra  Bergson.  I  guess  I  go  crazy  sure  'nough." 

Alexandra  remembered  the  little  yellow  cane 
she  had  found  in  Frank's  clothes-closet.  She 
thought  of  how  he  had  come  to  this  country  a 
gay  young  fellow,  so  attractive  that  the  pretti 
est  Bohemian  girl  in  Omaha  had  run  away  with 
him.  It  seemed  unreasonable  that  life  should 
have  landed  him  in  such  a  place  as  this.  She 
blamed  Marie  bitterly.  And  why,  with  her 
happy,  affectionate  nature,  should  she  have 
brought  destruction  and  sorrow  to  all  who  had 
loved  her,  even  to  poor  old  Joe  Tovesky,  the 
uncle  who  used  to  carry  her  about  so  proudly 
when  she  was  a  little  girl?  That  was  the 
strangest  thing  of  all.  Was  there,  then,  some 
thing  wrong  in  being  warm-hearted  and  impul 
sive  like  that?  Alexandra  hated  to  think  so. 
But  there  was  Emil,  in  the  Norwegian  grave 
yard  at  home,  and  here  was  Frank  Shabata. 
Alexandra  rose  and  took  him  by  the  hand. 

"Frank  Shabata,  I  am  never  going  to  stop 
trying  until  I  get  you  pardoned.  I'll  never 

296 


ALEXANDRA 

give  the  Governor  any  peace.  I  know  I  can  get 
you  out  of  this  place." 

Frank  looked  at  her  distrustfully,  but  he 
gathered  confidence  from  her  face.  "Alexan 
dra,"  he  said  earnestly,  "if  I  git  out-a  here,  I 
not  trouble  dis  country  no  more.  I  go  back 
where  I  come  from;  see  my  mother." 

Alexandra  tried  to  withdraw  her  hand,  but 
Frank  held  on  to  it  nervously.  He  put  out  his 
finger  and  absently  touched  a  button  on  her 
black  jacket.  "Alexandra,"  he  said  in  a  low 
tone,  looking  steadily  at  the  button,  "you  ain' 
t'ink  I  use  dat  girl  awful  bad  before — " 

"No,  Frank.  We  won't  talk  about  that," 
Alexandra  said,  pressing  his  hand.  "I  can't 
help  Ernil  now,  so  I  'm  going  to  do  what  I  can 
for  you.  You  know  I  don't  go  away  from 
home  often,  and  I  came  up  here  on  purpose  to 
tell  you  this." 

The  warden  at  the  glass  door  looked  in  in 
quiringly.  Alexandra  nodded,  and  he  came  in 
and  touched  the  white  button  on  his  desk.  The 
guard  appeared,  and  with  a  sinking  heart 
Alexandra  saw  Frank  led  away  down  the  cor 
ridor.  After  a  few  words  with  Mr.  Schwartz, 

297 


O  PIONEERS! 

s 

she  left  the  prison  and  made  her  way  to  the 
street-car.  She  had  refused  with  horror  the 
warden's  cordial  invitation  to  "go  through 
the  institution."  As  the  car  lurched  over  its  un 
even  roadbed,  back  toward  Lincoln,  Alexandra 
thought  of  how  she  and  Frank  had  been 
wrecked  by  the  same  storm  and  of  how,  al 
though  she  couk1  come  out  into  the  sunlight, 
she  had  not  much  more  left  in  her  life  than  he. 
She  remembered  some  lines  from  a  poem  she 
had  liked  in  her  schooldays :  — 

/ 

Henceforth  the  world  will  only  be 
A  wider  prison-house  to  me, — 

and  sighed.  A  disgust  of  life  weighed  upon  her 
heart;  some  such  feeling  as  had  twice  frozen 
Frank  Shabata's  features  while  they  talked 
together.  She  wished  she  were  back  on  the 
Divide. 

When  Alexandra  entered  her  hotel,  the  clerk 
held  up  one  finger  and  beckoned  to  her.  As  she 
approached  his  desk,  he  handed  her  a  telegram. 
Alexandra  took  the  yellow  envelope  and  looked 
at  it  in  perplexity,  then  stepped  into  the  ele 
vator  without  opening  it.  •  As  she  walked  down 

298 


ALEXANDRA 

the  corridor  toward  her  room,  she  reflected  that 
she  was,  in  a  manner,  immune  from  evil  tid 
ings.  On  reaching  her  room  she  locked  the  door, 
and  sitting  down  on  a  chair  by  the  dresser, 
opened  the  telegram.  It  was  from  Hanover, 
and  it  read :  — 

Arrived  Hanover  last  night.    Shall  wait 
here  until  you  come.  Please  hurry. 

CARL  LINSTRUM. 

Alexandra  put  her  head  down  on  the  dresser 
and  burst  into  tears. 


Ill 

THE  next  afternoon  Carl  and  Alexandra 
were  walking  across  the  fields  from  Mrs. 
Killer's.  Alexandra  had  left  Lincoln  after  mid 
night,  and  Carl  had  met  her  at  the  Hanover 
station  early  in  the  morning.  After  they 
reached  home,  Alexandra  had  gone  over  to 
Mrs.  Killer's  to  leave  a  little  present  she  had 
bought  for  her  in  the  city.  They  stayed  at  the 
old  lady's  door  but  a  moment,  and  then  came 
out  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  in  the 
sunny  fields.  * 

Alexandra  had  taken  off  her  black  traveling- 
suit  and  put  on  a  white  dress;  partly  because 
she  saw  that  her  black  clothes  made  Carl  un 
comfortable  and  partly  because  she  felt  op 
pressed  by  them  herself.  They  seemed  a  little 
like  the  prison  where  she  had  worn  them  yester 
day,  and  to  be  out  of  place  in  the  open  fields. 
Carl  had  changed  very  little.  His  cheeks  were* 
browner  and  fuller.  He  looked  less  like  a  tired 
scholar  than  when  he  went  away  a  year  ago, 
but  no  one,  even  now,  would  have  taken  him 

300 
. 


ALEXANDRA 

for  a  man  of  business.  His  soft,  lustrous  black 
eyes,  his  whimsical  smile,  would  be  less  against 
him  in  the  Klondike  than  on  the  Divide.  There 
are  always  dreamers  on  the  frontier. 

Carl  and  Alexandra  had  been  talking  since 
morning.  Her  letter  had  never  reached  him. 
He  had  first  learned  of  her  misfortune  from  a 
San  Francisco  paper,  four  weeks  old,  which  he 
had  picked  up  in  a  saloon,  and  which  con 
tained  a  brief  account  of  Frank  Shabata's  trial. 
When  he  put  down  the  paper,  he  had  already 
made  up  his  mind  that  he  could  reach  Alexandra 
as  quickly  as  a  letter  could;  and  ever  since  he 
had  been  on  the  way;  day  and  night,  by  the 
fastest  boats  and  trains  he  could  catch.  His 
steamer  had  been  held  back  two  days  by  rough 
weather. 

As  they  came  out  of  Mrs.  Killer's  garden 
they  took  up  their  talk  again  where  they  had 
left  it. 

"But  could  you  come  away  like  that,  Carl, 
without  arranging  things  ?  Could  you  just  walk 
off  and  leave  your  business?"  Alexandra  asked. 

Carl  laughed.  "Prudent  Alexandra!  You  see, 
my  dear,  I  happen  to  have  an  honest  partner, 

301 


O  PIONEERS! 

I  trust  him  with  everything.  In  fact,  it's  been 
his  enterprise  from  the  beginning,  you  know. 
I'm  in  it  only  because  he  took  me  in.  I'll 
have  to  go  back  in  the  spring.  Perhaps  you 
will  want  to  go  with  me  then.  We  haven't 
turned  up  millions  yet,  but  we've  got  a  start 
that's  worth  following.  But  this  winter  I  'd  like 
to  spend  with  you.  You  won't  feel  that  we 
ought  to  wait  longer,  on  Emil's  account,  will 
you,  Alexandra?" 

Alexandra  shook  her  head.  "No,  Carl;  I 
don't  feel  that  way  about  it.  And  surely  you 
need  n't  mind  anything  Lou  and  Oscar  say 
now.  They  are  much  angrier  with  me  about 
Emil,  now,  than  about  you.  They  say  it  was  all 
my  fault.  That  I  ruined  him  by  sending  him  to 
college." 

"No,  I  don't  care  a  button  for  Lou  or 
Oscar.  The  moment  I  knew  you  were  in  trou 
ble,  the  moment  I  thought  you  might  need 
me,  it  all  looked  different.  You've  always 
been  a  triumphant  kind  of  person."  Carl 
hesitated,  looking  sidewise  at  her  strong,  full 
figure.  "But  you  do  need  me  now,  Alex 
andra?" 

302 


ALEXANDRA 

She  put  her  hand  on  his  arm.  "I  needed  you 
terribly  when  it  happened,  Carl.  I  cried  for  you 
at  night.  Then  everything  seemed  to  get  hard 
inside  of  me,  and  I  thought  perhaps  I  should 
i  never  care  for  you  again.  But  when  I  got  your 
telegram  yesterday,  then  —  then  it  was  just  as 
it  used  to  be.  You  are  all  I  have  in  the  world, 
you  know." 

Carl  pressed  her  hand  in  silence.  They  were 
passing  the  Shabatas'  empty  house  now,  but 
they  avoided  the  orchard  path  and  took  one 
that  led  over  by  the  pasture  pond. 

"Can  you  understand  it,  Carl?"  Alexandra 
murmured.  "I  have  had  nobody  but  Ivar  and 
Signa  to  talk  to.  Do  talk  to  me.  Can  you  un 
derstand  it?  Could  you  have  believed  that 
of  Marie  Tovesky?  I  would  have  been  cut 
to  pieces,  little  by  little,  before  I  would  have 
| betrayed  her  trust  in  me!" 

Carl  looked  at  the  shining  spot  of  water 
, before  them.  "Maybe  she  was  cut  to  pieces, 
too,  Alexandra.  I  am  sure  she  tried  hard;  they 
jboth  did.  That  was  why  Emil  went  to  Mexico, 
of  course.  And  he  was  going  away  again,  you 
tell  me,  though  he  had  only  been  home  three 

303 


O   PIONEERS! 

weeks.  You  remember  that  Sunday  when  I 
went  with  Emil  up  to  the  French  Church  fair? 
I  thought  that  day  there  was  some  kind  of  feel 
ing,  something  unusual,  between  them.  I 
meant  to  talk  to  you  about  it.  But  on  my  way 
back  I  met  Lou  and  Oscar  and  got  so  angry 
that  I  forgot  everything  else.  You  must  n't 
be  hard  on  them,  Alexandra.  Sit  down  here 
by  the  pond  a  minute.  I  want  to  tell  you 
something." 

They  sat  down  on  the  grass-tufted  bank  and 
Carl  told  her  how  he  had  seen  Emil  and 
Marie  out  by  the  pond  that  morning,  more  than 
a  year  ago,  and  how  young  and  charming  and 
full  of  grace  they  had  seemed  to  him.  "It  hard 
pens  like  that  in  the  world  sometimes,  Alexan 
dra,"  he  added  earnestly.  "I've  seen  it  before.^ 
There  are  women  who  spread  ruin  around 
them  through  no  fault  of  theirs,  just  by  being 
too  beautiful,  too  full  of  life  and  love.  They 
can't  help  it.  People  come  to  them  as  people  go 
to  a  warm  fire  in  winter.  I  used  to  feel  that  in| 
her  when  she  was  a  little  girl.  Do  you  remem^ 
ber  how  all  the  Bohemians  crowded  round  her 
in  the  store  that  day.  when  she  eave  Emil  her 


I 


ALEXANDRA 


bandy?  You  remember  those  yellow  sparks  in 
er  eyes?" 

Alexandra  sighed.  "Yes.  People  could  n't 
jhelp  loving  her.  Poor  Frank  does,  even  now,  I 
jthink;  though  he's  got  himself  in  such  a  tangle 
£hat  for  a  long  time  his  love  has  been  bitterer 
ithan  his  hate.  But  if  you  saw  there  was  any- 
fching  wrong,  you  ought  to  have  told  me,  Carl." 
Carl  took  her  hand  and  smiled  patiently. 
"My  dear,  it  was  something  one  felt  in  the  air, 
you  feel  the  spring  coming,  or  a  storm  in 
(summer.  I  did  n't  see  anything.  Simply,  when 
1  was  with  those  two  young  things,  I  felt  my 
ploorJ  go  quicker,  I  felt  —  how  shall  I  say  it?  — 
kn  acceleration  of  life.  After  I  got  away,  it 
jwas  all  too  delicate,  too  intangible,  to  write 
about." 

Alexandra   looked  at  him  mournfully.    "I 

ry  to  be  more  liberal  about  such  things  than 

used  to  be.    I  try  to  realize  that  we  are  not 

11  made  alike.   Only,  why  could  n't  it  have 

Jbeen  Raoul  Marcel,  or  Jan  Smirka  ?  Why  did  it 

ave  to  be  my  boy?" 

"Because  he  was  the  best  there  was,  I  sup- 
They  were  both  the  best  you  had  here." 
305 


O   PIONEERS! 


The  sun  was  dropping  low  in  the  wj^st  when 
the  two  friends  rose  and  took  the  path  again. 
The  straw-stacks  were  throwing  long  shadows, 
the  owls  were  flying  home  to  the  prairie-dog 
town.  When  they  came  to  the  corner  where  the 
pastures  joined,  Alexandra's  twelve  young  colts 
were  galloping  in  a  drove  over  the  brow  of  the 
hill. 

"Carl,"  said  Alexandra,  "I  should  like  to  go 
up  there  with  you  in  the  spring.  I  have  n't 
been  on  the  water  since  we  crossed  the  ocean, 
when  I  was  a  little  girl.  After  we  first  came  out 
here  I  used  to  dream  sometimes  about  the  ship 
yard  where  father  worked,  and  a  little  sort  of 
inlet,  full  of  masts."  Alexandra  paused.  After 
a  moment's  thought  she  said,  "But  you  would 
never  ask  me  to  go  away  for  good,  would  you?" 

"Of  course  not,  my  dearest.  I  think  I  know 
how  you  feel  about  this  country  as  well  as  you 
do  yourself."  Carl  took  her  hand  in  both  his 
own  and  pressed  it  tenderly. 

"Yes,  I  still  feel  that  way,  though  Emil  is 
gone.  When  I  was  on  the  train  this  morning, 
and  we  got  near  Hanover,  I  felt  something  like 
I  did  when  I  drove  back  with  Emil  from  the 


ALEXANDRA 

river  that  time,  in  the  dry  year.  I  was  glad  to     I 

, 

cbfne  back  to  it.  I've  lived  here  a  long  time. 
There  is  great  peace  here,  Carl,  and  freedom. 
...  I  thought  when  I  came  out  of  that  prison, 
where  poor  Frank  is,  that  I  should  never  feel 
free  again.  But  I  do,  here."  Alexandra  took  a 
deep  breath  and  looked  off  into  the  red  west. 

"You  belong  to  the  land,"  Carl  murmured,  \N 
"as  you  have  always  said.    Now  more  than 


ever." 


"Yes,  now  more  than  ever.  You  remember 
what  you  once  said  about  the  graveyard,  and 
the  old  story  writing  itself  over?  Only  it  is  we 
who  write  it,  with  the  best  we  have." 

They  paused  on  the  last  ridge  of  the  pasture, 
overlooking  the  house  and  the  windmill  and  the 
stables  that  marked  the  site  of  John  Bergson's 
homestead.  On  every  side  the  brown  waves  of 
the  earth  rolled  away  to  meet  the  sky. 

"Lou  and  Oscar  can't  see  those  things,"  said 
Alexandra  suddenly.  "Suppose  I  do  will  my 
land  to  their  children,  what  difference  will  that 
make?  The  land  belongs  to  the  future,  Carl; 
that's  the  way  it  seems  to  me.  How  many  of  the  * 
names  on  the  county  clerk's  plat  will  be  there 

307 


O   PIONEERS! 

in  fifty  years?  I  might  as  well  try  to  will  the 
sunset  over  there  to  my  brother's  children.  We 
come  and  go,  but  the  land  is  always  here.  And 
the  people  who  love  it  and  understand  it  are 
the  people  who  own  it  —  for  a  little  while." 

Carl  looked  at  her  wonderingly.  She  was 
still  gazing  into  the  west,  and  in  her  face  there 
was  that  exalted  serenity  that  sometimes  came 
to  her  at  moments  of  deep  feeling.  The  level 
rays  of  the  sinking  sun  shone  in  her  clear  eyes. 

"Why  are  you  thinking  of  such  things  now, 
Alexandra?" 

"I  had  a  dream  before  I  went  to  Lincoln  — 
But  I  will  tell  you  about  that  afterward,  after 
we  are  married.  It  will  never  come  true,  now, 
in  the  way  I  thought  it  might."  She  took  Carl's 
arm  and  they  walked  toward  the  gate.  "How 
many  times  we  have  walked  this  path  together, 
Carl.  How  many  times  we  will  walk  it  again! 
Does  it  seem  to  you  like  coming  back  to  your 
own  place  ?  Do  you  feel  at  peace  with  the  world 
here  ?  I  think  we  shall  be  very  happy.  I  have  n't 
any  fears.  I  think  when  friends  marry,  they  are 
safe.  We  don't  suffer  like  —  those  young  ones." 
Alexandra  ended  with  a  sigh. 

308 


ALEXANDRA 

They  had  reached  tlte  gate.  Before  Carl 
opened  it,  he  drew  Alexandra  to  him  and  kissed 
her  softly,  on  her  lips  and  on  her  eyes. 

She  leaned  heavily  on  his  shoulder.  "I  am 
tired,"  she  murmured.  "I  have  been  very 
lonely,  Carl." 

They  went  into  the  house  together,  leaving 
the  Divide  behind  them,  under  the  evening 
star.  Fortunate  country,  that  is  one  day  to 
receive  hearts  like  Alexandra's  into  its  bosom, 
to  give  them  out  again  in  the  yellow  wheat,  in 
the  rustling  corn,  in  the  shining  eyes  of  youth ! 


THE   END 


ffibe 

CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .    A 


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